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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27796369">sucker punch</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/inklinghost/pseuds/inklinghost'>inklinghost</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Boxing, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:15:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>31,247</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27796369</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/inklinghost/pseuds/inklinghost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Otabek "the Beast" Altin is a boxer at the height of his career. With all the money and fame in the world, there's nothing that he could possibly want. Until a blond boy appears in his life and throws everything into disarray.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Otabek Altin/Yuri Plisetsky</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>103</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey-o! </p><p>if this fic looks at all familiar to you or you think you read it before, that's because I used to write here under a different account (now deleted) and published the first few chapters here but ultimately deleted it. I found it in my wips and decided to finish it up. </p><p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Otabek can feel the lights on him. The flash of cameras and the cheering of the crowd all working to pump his blood and if he looks close enough he thinks he can see money passing hands in the crowd, rich men with expensive cigarettes hanging from their lips and even more expensive watches on their wrists betting on who will win and who will lose and who will bleed the most. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The place is packed but that comes as no surprise. With ringside seats going one grand and above, a quick scan of the crowd provides Otabek with a few big names and celebrities who come for the thrill of it because they have the time and the money to fly to Vegas even if the interest isn’t quite there but that’s the novelty of it. Later they’ll go home with a fresh stack of cash in their pockets because they just happened to bet on the right people and they’ll tell their friends </span>
  <em>
    <span>hey, I got to see that Kazakh guy fight last night. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Otabek knows how this works, has been playing at this game long enough to know that all these people came just for him and he knows how to put on a good show. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The gloves sit heavy on Otabek’s hands, the wrappings underneath tight like he likes them. There’s that anticipation in his gut, tumultuous and burning like a million fires crawling up from his core and to his throat, threatening to spill from his mouth and burn the entire place down. His muscles are coiling, tightening, getting ready for that first punch that won’t come for a while yet. He has to take it easy; people came to see all twelve rounds and that’s what he had to give them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gets up on the ring, slipping through the ropes expertly. His opponent is already there, quick on his feet just like they’d told him before this match, while he was training and watching videos of this Georgi guy facing off against other competitors. He was fast and agile and liked to tire his opponents out before diving in for a knockout or maybe just a technical one. He was good but so was Otabek, with thirty-two wins and just one loss under his belt he was one of the best, and tonight, he was determined to prove it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mind goes a little hazy while they do the introductions and hype up the crowd, the Kazakhstan flag flown behind him by a bikini-clad girl when the referee calls for him, introducing him as the super welterweight champion of the world. Otabek raises his arm, sweat already dotting his forehead and the crowd goes wild, grown men shouting, begging him to win so that they don’t lose the millions that they’ve bet on him. He can see the ones that aren’t interested, pretty women with bored expressions only there to please their husbands and make sure they don’t leave with someone younger than them, nursing fancy drinks with fancy names that Otabek will never taste because they’re too sweet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He steps back into his corner and finds that a stool has already been placed there for him to sit. Yakov’s voice is at his ear, reminding him, “You have to corner him against the ropes, get a few quick punches in at the head and then step away. Get him disoriented, let him tire himself out without him noticing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek nods, already having practiced this a million times over. He knows his punches are killer but the most difficult part is getting them to land. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someone slips the clear mouth guard in past his lips and he takes it, using his tongue to shift it around so it fits just right. He’s surrounded by people, telling him this and that. Someone is digging their thumbs into the tense muscles of his back, trying to relax him but that’s the last thing he wants right now. Otabek likes being wound uptight before a fight like this, likes the viciousness that takes over and makes him feel that much more dangerous- like he can rip his opponent’s throat out and spit it back into the crowd. It’s something wild, animalistic, the rush of adrenaline in his veins like a storm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The referee reads them the rules, one hand on each of their chests to keep them at a fair distance from each other. Otabek already knows it all- no biting, no hits below the belt. The guy in front of him has a cocky look on his face, lips curled at the corners like smoke and it’s funny how confident he is in all of this, how sure he is that he’ll win. They bump gloves once the referee is done, more out of habit than anything else, and then retreat to their corners, bodies poised and ready for the fight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Otabek hears the </span>
  <em>
    <span>ding </span>
  </em>
  <span>of the bell it’s like everything’s gone quiet, so quiet he can hear a pin drop, and then the noise rushes back like a tidal wave, drowning out every single thought in his head. The first round passes by quickly like it always does. None of them managed to get any good hits in but it’s not like they were trying to, anyway. Georgi was quicker in person than in those videos, bouncing swiftly from place to place before Otabek could even </span>
  <em>
    <span>think </span>
  </em>
  <span>about getting a punch in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pace yourself,” Yakov says and Otabek nods, spitting out the water in his mouth. His heart is racing, hard, fast, loud. It’s like it’ll burst through his ribcage, breaking through bone and flesh and everything else. He gets the first punch of the night in somewhere during the second round, that satisfying </span>
  <em>
    <span>thud </span>
  </em>
  <span>that he wished he could feel bare-knuckled like when he was young and reckless and tired of everyone and everything and so, so angry. It had to hurt because Georgi staggers back, not punch drunk but almost there. Otabek reigns himself back in, taking in a few quick breaths before the referee allows him to continue. He doesn’t know how he’s going to last ten more rounds- maybe he can go for just eight and no one would know the difference. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hears Yakov’s words- </span>
  <em>
    <span>pace yourself- </span>
  </em>
  <span>and tries to do just that. Georgi gets a few good hits in, mostly to his bare chest and his ribs, right swing too weak to do any damage anyway but Otabek pretends for the cameras, grimaces, and staggers back before he’s at it again, fiercer than before. He’s difficult to tire out, like a ball of energy and if he needed to, he could go for hours, relentlessly. Maybe that’s why they called him </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Beast</span>
  </em>
  <span>, hushed among the acrid smell of smoke and beer and new money. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, did you see that guy? </span>
  </em>
  <span>They whisper when they think he can’t hear; in passing or after a fight or during practice but Otabek always hears. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s like some animal- like a </span>
  </em>
  <span>beast.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek takes it and goes with it, bares his teeth, and lets his reputation precede him. He makes it his because the crowds like it and if the crowds like it then that brings in money, millions of dollars to fuel his bad eating habits, and a pricey apartment in east Manhattan with the balcony and the views and the vacations to Saint Tropez and Bora Bora. He makes it his because it’s better than having anyone else take it, calling him it behind his back like he’s nothing more than that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Georgi is good, in his own way. He manages to get one good hit in, splitting Otabek’s lip. It stings but he’s had worst, has worked his way through opponents that have actually persisted all twelve rounds and left him bloody and bruised but he always wins anyway. Now is no different. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They reach the ninth round when Otabek gets tired of the teasing and the side-stepping and light blows. He’s tired of playing around so he steps in, crowds Georgi against the ropes like he’s been doing all night but this time he doesn’t bother holding back, his muscles coiling and unwinding, gloved fist connected with his head and face over and over again. It’s too easy and the thought comes into Otabek’s mind that maybe Georgi is just a stand-up, put there in the ring with him for the sole purpose of losing but the crowd is eating it all up. He steps back when the referee tells him to, giving the other man a breather before they’re back at it again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A good uppercut to that sweet spot under his chin ends it all. Georgi staggers back and looks dazed for a quick moment before his knees give and the crowd goes wild. It’s like slow motion, the way he falls and it’s like an eternity has passed before Otabek hears the satisfying thud of his body hitting the ground. The referee rushes over, gives Georgi the eight-count before he declares him officially knocked out, and Otabek the winner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Thirty-four wins </span>
  </em>
  <span>is all Otabek thinks as the referee raises his arms above his head for the entire venue to see that he’s the victor, in case they missed it somehow. His team rushes into the ring, Georgi’s dragging him away sullen and defeated but none of that matters now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I knew you could do it,” someone says in his ear and yeah- Otabek knew that too but he doesn’t say it because he’s not the cocky type.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lights are brighter than they were before, so bright that when he leaves the ring he can still see the spots in his vision. There are cameras everywhere and reporters asking too many questions that he’s not going to answer any time soon. Yakov brushes them off for him, gives them a quick statement that’ll keep them sated. It smells like smoke back there. Smoke and sweat and expensive cologne. Someone hands him a t-shirt and he takes it, thankful to have something to cover up with. He still feels jittery, coiled up, and tense. Maybe he’ll stop by the hotel’s pool later, soak in the cool water with a gin and tonic and he’ll finally be able to calm down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's always like this after the fight- too many people being too loud and asking too many things of him. Yakov clears a path for him through the crowd but instead of turning right, to go up to their hotel rooms he turns left, into a room Otabek has never been to before and frankly, doesn’t want to be. It’s late at night and his split lip throbs. When he sticks his tongue out to swipe it across his bottom lip he can taste blood. He probably smells gross, too, his shirt sticking to his torso with sweat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the room, there’s only one man- two, actually, upon closer inspection, the younger of the two with bright blond hair and eyes that remind Otabek of summer. Definitely pretty, with a bored look on his face that tells him that he’d rather be somewhere else right now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The older man introduces himself as Nikolai and if Otabek doesn’t know his face he definitely knows his name. This man is the definition of old money, his family’s fortune passed down from generation to generation and guarded carefully. He also happens to be one of Otabek’s top sponsors. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Altin,” he says and the formality leaves a bad taste in Otabek’s mouth. “I’m glad to finally meet you.” He extends his hand and Otabek takes it, feeling like he’s dirtying him for some reason. He’s never gone over well with the rich bastards here but this guy practically has money falling out of his ass and he’s the one that practically signs his checks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s the occasion?” Otabek asks, forcing a smile on his face. Right now there was probably a bottle of bubbly waiting for him on his bed and a swimsuit, still packed away in his bag, begging to be used. But there’s this, first- there’s always something first. It’s quiet in the room, so much so that Otabek can hear the shuffling of feet and the scrapping of a chair across the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please,” Nikolai says, motioning at the chair that’s so graciously been pulled out from the table by Yakov. They all sit, the other boy with his arms crossed over his chest and his legs propped up on the table. He looks defiant, has that look in his eyes like a threat or a promise; Otabek can’t decide. “I have a proposition for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek tenses a little because when someone says </span>
  <em>
    <span>proposition </span>
  </em>
  <span>it never ends well for him. “And that would be?” Yakov looks nervous, too and that seldom happens but now he’s chewing his lip, he’s flicking between Otabek and Nikolai like he’s watching a tennis match. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was told this wouldn’t go over well with you-” Nikolai says, taking a deep breath but he’s just about the least nervous person in the room. “-When I brought it up but… I want you to fight Leroy again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The room is quiet for a long moment- a long, long-drawn-out moment where everyone holds their breath like they’re just waiting for Otabek to explode like the fucking bomb they think he is. Even the boy seems interested in the happenings around them, watching Otabek’s reaction with clear, calculating eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” he says as calmly as he can. One loss was enough but two- he couldn’t handle two. “No, I-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s been three years,” Nikolai reminds him as if he even wants to think about it as if the words don’t feel like salt to his wounds. “Listen, I think it could bring in a lot of viewers. Do you have any idea how much ringside seats for that fight would be worth?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek does, or at least he has a pretty good idea now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were a rookie then,” Nikolai continues. “You’re a champion now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek balls his fist upon his lap, grinding his teeth together so hard his jaw hurts. It’d been three years, yes but Otabek didn’t feel any less ready now than he did then. He’d been steadily climbing the ranks since then, relentless in his pursuit of that glory that left such a sweet taste in his mouth and made him just that much more tempting to the rest of the world but him- Jean-Jacques </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuckin’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>Leroy- he was still the best of the best and if you had to pick you’d go for him because he was better, stronger, more crowd-friendly. He knew how to play it up, how to please and get what he wanted at the snap of a finger and Otabek wanted to so, so badly just to see his pretty-boy face bruise and swell up and bleed but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“500 million,” comes Nikolai’s voice, suddenly ripping Otabek out of his reverie so violently his head jerks up as if he’s been physically touched. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“500 million dollars,” Nikolai repeats. “That’s how much you’ll get for this fight. It might be a little more if you win but that’s the minimum.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I could retire with that kind of money,” Otabek says, leaning forward. It’s like bait, dangled right in front of his face and they’re all waiting for him to bite. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nikolai smiles as if he’d been expecting that answer. “I would hope that you won’t but in the end, it’s your choice.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek swallows because he knows this had been their plan all along, even before he stepped through the threshold. Maybe even before this fight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the end, they give him three months to prepare and all the while, Otabek feels like it isn’t enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The pool is cold. Otabek knows because he’s just dived in without a second thought about the temperature and he breaks through the surface gasping, his chest tight. Still, the cold is a nice relief for his overheated muscles and slowly, he relaxes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s an after-party, of course, down in the hotel’s lobby but Otabek never goes to those. He always makes some excuse that he’s too tired of that his head hurts but really, he just doesn’t like them. The music is too loud and there’s always a mob of people surrounding him, yelling over one another to be heard and touching him to get his attention and Otabek hates every bit of it. He does go, sometimes, when Yakov asks him to or when he needs to talk business with some important businessmen that he can’t remember the names of five minutes later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes Otabek goes because he wants a warm body in his bed for the night. He’ll go and pick up a ditzy blonde that looks good on his arm or some guy with big hands and an even bigger dick, that’ll pin him down good and fuck him even better. It’s always someone easy to get lost in for the night and forget the next morning while he moves on, goes back home, and practices with Chipotle binges in between. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But now, Otabek wants to think, drown himself in his thoughts if he can’t do it in the pool but it seems like today he can’t even do that because the door to the pool is opening, a semi-familiar head of long blond hair stepping inside. There’s a towel draped over his shoulder but his clothes from earlier are still on. He falters when he sees Otabek already there, obviously expecting to be alone but he doesn’t turn around and leave like Otabek had thought he would. Instead, he drops his towel on one of the chairs and goes to sit at the edge of the pool, feet in the water even though he’s wearing jeans.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a long moment of silence. Otabek doesn’t know what to say if he even </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>say anything. He doesn’t even know what this boy’s name is, just that he’s Nikolai’s grandson, but up close like this he’s so beautiful Otabek’s heart does a funny little dance in his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shouldn’t you be at the after-party?” Of course, it’s him that breaks the silence, asks the first question. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Shouldn’t you?” The boy counters, kicking up his feet so that his toes poked out of the water. “I mean; you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>the star of the show.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek scoffs. “I’m just the entertainment for the night, not exactly a star.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did good, though.” He bites the tip of his thumb, eyes kind of dark as he looks at Otabek. “I’m not into these sorts of things but my grandfather- he sees something in you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But not you?” Otabek moves closer, the movement so minute that it can be blamed on anything other than himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The boy picks up the bottle of champagne next to him. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dom</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he says, reading the label. “I prefer </span>
  <em>
    <span>Pol Roger</span>
  </em>
  <span> but I guess it’s just a matter of taste.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah well-” Now Otabek </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>move closer, close enough that he can take the bottle back and place it at the edge, next to the unused glass. “This is all they had here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should raise a complaint,” he says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s just champagne.” Otabek raises himself out of the water and sits next to this guy that’s way too beautiful to be there, next to his beat-up, shabby self but he’s there, anyway. “What’s your name anyway?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m Yuri,” he says. “The guy that’s about to drink all your champagne.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Woah, hey.” Otabek takes the bottle, thinking for a moment about chugging it all down so this Yuri guy can’t drink any but instead he places it on his other side, away from him. “Are you even old enough to drink?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In most European countries-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but you’re in Vegas.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “C’mon, just share some.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen, kid-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m eighteen, not a kid. You dick.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek laughs and then just because he can and because that pout looks good on Yuri’s lips he pops the bottle and takes a long swig. It’s sweet and the bubbles on his tongue burst like fireworks. Yuri’s pout deepens and he reaches for it but Otabek holds it up so he can’t even touch it. Up close like this, he looks so small and his eyes are even greener with flecks of blue like fish in a pond. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not gonna happen, kid,” Otabek tells him, grinning when Yuri huffs, probably not used to people telling him no. “Call someone to bring you some soda or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he thought Yuri’s eyes were dark before then they definitely are now. He looks almost predatory, in the way someone as small as him can look but it’s like he’s on a mission as he leans forward. He says, “he split your lip,” and wraps his fingers around Otabek’s jaw, the pad of his thumb pressing into the sore cut. Otabek hisses at the sudden sting but doesn’t pull away, only leans in closer, just the tiniest bit to see what’ll happen, what he’ll do. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks for noticing,” Otabek says, not sure what to do next. There could be cameras, paparazzi hidden behind the potted plants in that alcove behind those glass doors that separated the pool from the outside. There could be anything but Yuri’s there, cupping Otabek’s jaw like he’s about to kiss him for a bottle of two-hundred-dollar champagne. Otabek isn’t sure if he’s against it or not. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just a sip,” he says and in the end, Otabek can’t say no. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Grab the glass.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri scoffs. “What, you get the bottle and I get the glass?” He asks but holds it up anyway. Otabek fills it up halfway, chewing on his lip nervously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just be glad I even gave you some. Your grandfather won’t mind?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s at the after-party.” Yuri drinks his champagne slow, with little sips and long pauses in-between.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So he doesn’t even know I’m gone. Hey, don’t worry about it- I drink stuff heavier than this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek sighs. He hadn’t expected his night to go like this but he doesn’t think that he minds too much. “Right. Is that part of the rich kid lifestyle?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Some of it,” Yuri answers, licking off some of the liquid that’s spilled over his thumb. “Hey, can I ask; what’s up with you and that Leroy guy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek looks away. “I don’t want to talk about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean obviously I did my research. He’s the only guy that ever beat you, right? Five years and it was just him. I bet-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yuri,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Otabek grinds out, harsh and loud in the quiet of the pool. Yuri stops mid-sentence, the glass resting against his bottom lip and his irises blown wide. “Be quiet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t-” Yuri practically gasps, voice shaking and Otabek can see the way he shifts, his hands on his lap. “Don’t look at me like that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like </span>
  <em>
    <span>what?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>The water on his skin has practically dried up by now, leaving him cold and sticky but there’s a warmth settling in his gut that he hasn’t felt in a long, long time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like you want to eat me alive.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek can see Yuri swallow, can see the way his throat bobs up and down with the nervous gesture. Otabek wants to lean forward, drag his teeth across that skin he’s sure is so soft. But he doesn’t because Otabek Altin has always had more control than that. Still, Yuri stands, his hands shaking and it seems like he forgets that he’s still holding the glass as he walks back to where his towel is. It looks like he’s going to leave and there’s already an apology forming in Otabek’s throat, words in his mouth but before he can say them he chokes, watching as Yuri slowly takes his clothes off right there. He’s not wearing a swimsuit under them, for some reason so he just leaves his grey briefs on and nothing else. Otabek can see that he’s half-hard and his throat is dry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s so slender. Otabek notices because he can’t look away no matter how hard he tries. Slender and unblemished and even more beautiful now than he was before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have a hard time keeping my mouth shut sometimes,” he says, slipping into the cold water slowly. He sighs like it’s the best thing he’s ever felt. “But if you keep looking at me like that-” he leaves the sentence unfinished, swimming out to the deep end. Otabek gets it though, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>understands </span>
  </em>
  <span>and there’s that warmth again, settling in his tummy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek stays where he is, not trusting himself to go after Yuri, not even trusting himself to be there, in the same space but he stays because Yuri seems to want him to. His lip still aches- maybe it’s from the cut itself or just from Yuri’s touch but he doesn’t know. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why aren’t you at the after-party?” Otabek asks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t like them,” Yuri says, simple as that. “They’re too loud and boring.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And being here isn’t?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri swims closer but not close enough. “Well you’re here, so I guess that’s a plus.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know you can’t exactly flatter me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not trying to.” Yuri’s right there, suddenly, braced at the edge of the pool, so close he’s almost touching Otabek’s thigh. His cheeks are dusted a light pink and his lips are red like he’s wearing lipstick but Otabek knows he’s not. “I’m just saying that right now, I enjoy your company.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek reaches out and curls a strand of Yuri’s hair around his finger before tucking it behind his ear. Yuri closes his eyes and leans into the touch, his lips parting as he does. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s it like?” He mutters, voice low and groggy like he’s about to fall asleep right there with Otabek’s hand in his hair and half of his body still in the pool. “Being up there.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought you weren’t interested.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not,” he says. “Just curious.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek hums, trying to think about the proper answer. It’s not something that can be summed up in just a few words or sentences. It was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling- </span>
  </em>
  <span>adrenaline, the pumping of blood through his veins, the rush. “It’s like I’m the only person in the world.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really? Even with all those people watching you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s like they’re not there. It’s just me and my opponent and nothing else matters.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I saw you,” he says, voice so soft like he’s dreaming. “As soon as you stepped up there you just looked so confident, like you already knew that you were going to win.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did,” Otabek says, voice equally as soft even if they’re the only two people there. “I know every time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re cocky,” Yuri says, raising his head and biting his lip like he’s trying to suppress a smile but it doesn’t quite work. It’s cute, Otabek thinks, brushing his thumb over his cheek. “What else do you know?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dunno,” Otabek lies, watching Yuri move. He’s always been good at this, reading people like a fucking book and he knows exactly how this night will end and every little thing that’ll happen in between because this is all in his hands and always has been. Even when Yuri places his hands on his knees and spreads Otabek’s legs so he can move between them he knows and the kiss is almost predictable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Almost.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It leaves him with a kind of breathlessness, a falter in his heart that makes him feel like it’s stopped altogether and there’s the unsteadiness, too. With Yuri’s hands burning into the skin of his thighs Otabek feels like he might just tip over into the pool and wrap his arms around Yuri’s waist as he drowns in the sensations. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t fall in, thankfully, even as Yuri’s hands find their way into Otabek’s hair and he’s pulling him down to meet his mouth halfway. His lips are soft and taste like champagne with just a hint of chlorine and something much sweeter. If Otabek had to guess he’d say it was a taste distinctly Yuri’s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think you’re a liar,” Yuri says when he pulls away, gasping for breath and hands trailing higher. Otabek drags him impossibly closer with a hand on the back of his head, golden strands of hair sifting through his fingers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe.” Otabek doesn’t want to play games anymore, just wants to pull Yuri out of that pool onto his lap, run his hands down his back and do everything that’ll pull those little noises from his lips like a symphony. “Come here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s easy to drag Yuri out of the water, easier still to grab his hand and lead him out, champagne and clothes and everything else forgotten as they head for the elevator. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What floor is yours?” Yuri asks, hands traveling over Otabek’s bare torso as if he can’t quite believe that he’s there. It feels nice, the warmth feels nice, especially after so long with no one there to touch him like that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Top,” Otabek answers, pushing the button that’ll take him up to his room. He doesn’t know if the after-party is still going on or if everyone’s already gone home with their wallets thicker and eyes heavy but he doesn’t care. Doesn’t care about anything at that moment except for the fact that he’s in an elevator with Yuri heading up to the top floor of a thirty-story building where Otabek just beat a man limp and now he’s holding another one so tenderly like he’s scared he’ll break into pieces right there and then. “You?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does it matter?” Yuri presses his lips against Otabek’s racing pulse, the feel of it exhilarating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They should probably take a shower first, freshen up so that Otabek’s sheets don’t smell like sex and chlorine because he can’t imagine the combination ever being a good one but Yuri has a point: does it matter? So as they slip into the suite Otabek doesn’t waste any time, doesn’t find a point in it because he finds that Yuri looks ridiculously good splayed out on the sheets, still soaked through and panting and </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Otabek can’t say that he’s any different. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He runs his hands down Yuri’s sides and the other laughs softly. “What’s so funny?” he asks before he’s bending over and pressing his lips to Yuri’s navel, tongue sweeping out to taste the skin there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your hands are gentle,” Yuri says, eyes closed as he relishes in the feeling. “Your hands are so gentle-” he gasps, fingers threading through Otabek’s hair as a hot, wet tongue sweeps down under the elastic of his underwear. “I didn’t- I didn’t expect it, that’s all.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you want me to be rough?” Otabek asks, hands spreading Yuri’s thighs so he can move between them and place kisses on the tender skin there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, please.” Otabek can tell now that he’s the breathy, whiny type, arching his back and grinding against the closest surface that will give him the most immediate relief- begging and begging until he’s coming with tears in his eyes because it’s so damn violent and Otabek can’t wait to see that right there in front of him- </span>
  <em>
    <span>because </span>
  </em>
  <span>of him. “Don’t stop.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek grins against the jut of his hip. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He pulls back, allowing himself enough space to flip Yuri over on his stomach, his ass in the air. “How do you want this?” he asks, already reaching for the lube and condoms in the nightstand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t care,” Yuri says, whining as he buries his head in the sheets as if he’s embarrassed. “Just make me come.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek understands the danger in this, what it could mean to his career if it went down the wrong path. His sponsor’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>grandson </span>
  </em>
  <span>for fuck’s sake, right there almost naked on that hotel bed asking Otabek to fuck him but this could go both ways, really, and Otabek could be the one getting fucked in the end.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kisses a trail down Yuri’s spine anyway, all the way down to those dimples at the base and then lower, pulls Yuri’s underwear down as he goes to reveal just that much more skin. Something in Otabek’s stomach twists, like he’s about to fuck for the first time though it’s probably just the sight before him, this beautiful boy that Otabek’s just met grinding down on the sheets to seek relief. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek doesn’t know how he does it, how he manages to find the will to finger Yuri open so slowly and carefully and tenderly all at once, easing those sounds out of him with touches and kisses and words. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s it,” Otabek praises as he helps Yuri down on his cock once he’s deemed him stretched enough, their fingers threaded as he goes. “You’re doing so good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t.” Yuri shakes his head, his hair flying around violently as he does. He gasps, thrusting down once and then again as if testing the waters. “Don’t say shit like that. Just shut up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek presses Yuri into the bed, pins him down, and fucks him until that tightening in the pit of his stomach feels like fire licking up his veins and expanding throughout his entire body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m close,” Yuri cries out and Otabek was right. He can already see the tears brimming his eyes and wetting his lashes. “I’m so close, Otabek.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek doesn’t say anything, just leans down to suck a bruise into the curve of Yuri’s shoulder blade and fucks into him harder until he’s practically screaming and coming all over the sheets. Otabek follows right after, the feeling nearly addicting in the way it flicks through him like a flame, hot and burning and all-consuming until he’s drowning in the bliss of his own orgasm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s not much else to it than that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re staying on the same floor which isn’t really all that surprising considering who they are but Yuri spends the night in Otabek’s room anyway. It’s kind of nice how much smaller Yuri is, curling up and pressing himself into Otabek’s side as he sleeps, lips parted slightly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek sleeps, too, better than he has for a while. He doesn’t think about much- not about Leroy or the fight or anything, just how sated he is.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s colder in New York than in Las Vegas. Otabek makes the flight back with Yakov two days after the fight with Georgi. By now it feels like he spends more time at the MGM than in his own flat and the thought that maybe he should just move down to Vegas and end the constant flying crosses his mind more than once but that’s just not his scene. He’s grown accustomed to what he has up here, already knows where everything is and the best places to go if he wants Thai or Pho or whatever other thing tickles his appetite. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he arrives, Yakov gives him two days off. It’s like he’s just gotten back from a completely different world and the promise of his bed is enticing. He stuffs his hands in his pockets as the driver drops him off in front of his building quiet now in the late hours but the concierge is there to greet him when he gets inside. In the elevator ride up Otabek can’t decide if he’s tired or just hungry but he can always order an everything pizza with extra cheese. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even so, the first thing Otabek sees when he slips into his apartment is his bed, neatly made and untouched for what feels like months. Everything in his apartment seems untouched, actually. There’s no sign of anyone living there, no jacket was thrown over the back of the couch, or random slippers under the coffee table. Everything is so sterile, like a magazine spread. There are no pictures on the walls or the nightstand and the fridge in the kitchen is empty like it’s never actually held food. In the cabinets, all Otabek can find is sugar and salt and a bag of flour but nothing else. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s a set of glass stairs leading up to the second floor where his bedroom is, next to a spare that was probably meant for an office but it’s never been used in the three years he’s lived there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hunger forgotten, Otabek heads upstairs, shedding his clothes as he goes except in his hand he keeps a crumpled piece of paper with ten neatly written digits on it. That, he places on his nightstand, carefully as if the slightest wind would breeze it away. It’d been there when he’d woken up the night after with Yuri, placed carefully on the empty pillow that smelled like sex and chlorine. Otabek knows he should have thrown it out, forgotten all about it but instead he’d kept it all the way back here to New York and now there it was, in his apartment. He hadn’t even saved the number, hadn’t texted him but it doesn’t even matter anyway because the next morning when he wakes up there’s a simple text there, nothing more than six letters and a whole lot of meaning behind them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek reads it while he’s still half-asleep, bleary-eyed, and blinded by the bright light that’s streaming in through his window. He reads it once and then again once he’s convinced himself that he’s awake enough to deal with this, his throat dry and anticipation building in his gut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>I heard you’re back in town.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It’s a lot warmer today than it was yesterday and so Otabek finds himself with the privilege of getting to wear just a t-shirt and a hoodie instead of a thick jacket. He’s still a little groggy now in the early morning, even as he trudges through the streets with his hands in his pockets. His phone keeps going off at random intervals and each time is just as jarring as the last. It’d be easier to just block the number than put up with Yuri’s constant onslaught of messages urging him to hurry but he doesn’t, for some reason. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t even have any business there, not in this part of the city so quiet in the morning that he can hear the birds sing instead of the rush of cars and the bustle of people but he’s there, anyway, standing in front of that café with the big windows and gold lettering spelling out the name. He can see Yuri through the glass, sitting alone at the table set up in the corner, far apart from everyone else. He has his hood pulled over his head even though he’s inside and he has his earbuds in. From his position out on the sidewalk Otabek can see that he’s watching some video, all of his attention focused on that instead of the cup of tea sitting in front of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek takes a moment to look over his profile, eyes tracing a line down his forehead and over his nose and to the soft curve of his lips. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he watches the video and it’s like he’s the only person in there, suddenly, with the way Otabek seems to be focused only on him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek doesn’t know why he’s there in the first place. He’d planned on just stopping by to see Yuri one more time just to rid himself of this curiosity before continuing on his way. He’s in nothing more than a hoodie and sweatpants because he’d wanted to go for a quick run to get rid of all this restless energy but instead, without really thinking about it, he’s opening the door and stepping inside. The café is set far off enough that no one recognizes him though they all seem to stop and stare anyway. He pushes through the crowd and makes his way back to Yuri who looks so soft haloed in the golden glow pouring in from the windows. Nervously, he pulls the one free chair back and sits himself down on it, a soft “hey,” on his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri looks up, startled and his phone nearly slips from his grip. His eyes are wide and his lips are parted, his cheeks coloring a soft pink the longer that he sits there without saying a thing. Finally, after a long while he rips his earbuds out and says, “I’m sorry, what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek could laugh; he almost does, can feel it building up deep and throaty in his chest but he doesn’t. Instead, he just repeats himself and adds, “sorry I’m late,” without mentioning the fact that he wasn’t even supposed to be here in the first place. It was nice the first time but second times just didn’t happen for Otabek. They don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>work. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s fine,” Yuri says and the corners of his lips tug up just so. Whatever it is that he had in mind Otabek didn’t know if it’d be good or not. “Do you want anything to drink?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek shakes his head, not even bothering to look back at the menu because he knows he wouldn’t like any of whatever it is they have up there. Sweet drinks have never been his favorite and besides, Yakov was being stricter on his diet now more than ever. “I’m fine,” he says and waits for Yuri to continue the conversation. His hood slips down a little and now Otabek can see that he has his hair pulled back into a messy braid, a few strands falling loose around his face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t know if you had practice today.” He looks nervous, more so than when they’d first met a few days ago. He’s all rosy cheeks and nervous glances between the table and Otabek like he can’t quite keep his eyes firmly on him.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have these two days off,” Otabek says, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie. The weatherman from this morning said the temperature would warm up by the afternoon and he could already feel it, even from there. People bustle around them but seem to ignore them for the most part. It’s the first time in a long, long time that Otabek has been able to go somewhere without anyone recognizing him or mobs of people gathering around him. It feels nice, having this moment to breathe even if they’re still in public. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” The conversation is stilted, awkward like they don’t want to say too much, too fast but that doesn’t seem to stop Yuri from reaching out across the table and gathering Otabek’s much bigger hands in his. He frowns a little as he grazes the pad of his thumb over Otabek’s knuckles. “You used to fight bare-knuckled.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So?” He should probably pull away but he’s stuck, mesmerized by the contrast between his olive tone and Yuri’s fairer one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Was it underground or…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It takes a moment for Otabek to understand just what Yuri’s asking and he does laugh this time, just the softest of sounds. “No, are you serious? I was just a shitty kid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri keeps Otabek’s hands in his for just a moment longer before letting go. “Of course, as we all were.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri’s skin is fair, unblemished and Otabek has seen enough to know that the rest of his body is the same way. He can’t ever imagine Yuri’s childhood being the same as his, not in this system that favored him more than anyone else. “I don’t think you’ve ever been in a fight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I haven’t but I did have my fair share of teenage rebellion.” He reaches across and wraps his fingers around the cup of tea in front of him. It’s probably gone cold by now but he takes a sip anyway before putting it back in front of him. “Do you have any plans for today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he should say because the anticipation in Yuri’s eyes is near startling but instead he says, “No, I was just going to spend the day at home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri bites his lip and Otabek knows that he’s going to regret this or at least he should but finds that he doesn’t at that moment, not with Yuri’s eyes on him, and even then before they’ve started whatever this is he can feel his anticipation deep in his gut. Yuri stands and his hood slides off completely, his hair bright surrounded by so much light and Otabek wouldn’t be surprised if he found everyone staring at him as he passes by. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But he isn’t paying attention to anyone but Yuri as he follows him out of that café and out into the street.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you come in a car?” Yuri asks, glancing down at all the parked cars along the sidewalk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek shakes his head and says, “No, I walked here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri sighs in what could be deemed as a disappointment but then he’s brushing his hand across Otabek’s arm and saying, “Alright, let’s go.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’re mostly quiet as they walk side by side, their shoulders and hands brushing as they go. Otabek wouldn’t admit it but he feels nervous. The atmosphere is different now than it was last time; there’s no leftover adrenaline now, no rush, and no neediness, thick and heavy under his skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are we going?” He asks when they turn left instead of continuing to the wealthy neighborhoods. Here, the houses are nice but they’re not what Otabek had expected of Yuri, not with all the money he has.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My place,” Yuri says. “I need to feed my cat.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Right. His cat. Otabek follows along like a dog on a leash. There’s an ugly tiger stitched onto the back of Yuri’s jacket, baring its teeth and claws like it’s something fierce and not just decoration. Otabek keeps his eyes trained on that as they approach a large, red brick building complete with a fire escape and soft music drifting down from one of the open windows. He’s more than a little surprised when Yuri steps inside, and into the brightly lit lobby. The man behind the desk greets him warmly and even offers a smile that Yuri returns in kind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You live here?” Otabek asks once they’re in the privacy of the elevator. Yuri is standing close- close enough to touch but they don’t, not there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Top floor,” Yuri answers, chewing on his lip. “Not really what you’d expect, right?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.” Otabek shakes his head and looks down at Yuri. He’s smaller than him but only by a few inches and his eyes are bright; Otabek doesn’t think anyone could ever get used to that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s nice,” Yuri says, stepping out once the elevator doors open. “You’ll see.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They head down a short hallway and when the door at the end is unlocked and opened Otabek finds that Yuri really, really likes plants. That’s the first thing he sees, all of those plants placed atop every available surface and some hanging in front of those windows that let in so much light it’s almost blinding. It’s all warm, earthy tones and when he steps inside he finds that Yuri wasn’t lying about the cat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mily!” Yuri calls, leaving Otabek stranded by the front door as he goes for the cat, scratching between its ears affectionately. From where he’s standing Otabek can see most of the apartment; there are a couch and a dining room table that sits more people than have ever stepped in here and there’s a set of stairs, too, leading up to the second floor where Yuri’s bed is. It isn’t a second floor more than it is a simple platform.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Otabek steps further inside he can see the glass above Yuri’s bed, like one large window on the ceiling that allows him a perfect view of the night sky and if they weren’t where they are, out in the middle of such a big city with so much light pollution it would have provided an even more perfect view of the stars. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But even with all those decorations, there are no pictures on the walls, no mess, no shirt thrown over the back of a chair or socks underneath the coffee table. It’s almost like Otabek’s own apartment but homelier, just a little bit more lived in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can come in,” Yuri says, throwing his jacket over the back of the couch and that leaves him in just a plain, dark grey t-shirt. He moves to the kitchen and grabs a bag of cat food.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wasn’t lying about having to feed his cat, either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek takes a seat on the couch, feeling slightly out of place as he does. He watches Yuri pour the cat food inside the bowl but his hands shake as he does. Otabek sighs and Yuri seems to react to the exhalation, his body swaying as he stands upright. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look nervous.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uhm.” Yuri swallows and can’t even seem to look at Otabek as he goes to put the cat food away. Otabek watches Mily eat, her tail swaying in the hair. “I didn’t think I’d get this far.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” Otabek asks, shifting on the couch, his legs moving apart as if in an invitation, and Yuri, of course, catches the movement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That first time was pretty nice, yeah?” Yuri looks over at Otabek for confirmation and he nods, his heart stuttering in his chest just for the smallest of moments. “I mean- </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>really liked it and-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I liked it, too,” Otabek assures him, smiling a little when Yuri huffs and his face turns red. “Yuri-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want anything to drink?” Yuri rushes out, already taking two steps towards the fridge. “I have water and some sodas, I think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yuri,” Otabek calls again, firmer this time. Yuri takes a deep breath and then turns, his pupils blown as he looks at Otabek. “Come here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. Yeah.” Yuri moves, each step seeming to punch the breath right out of his lungs. Once he’s close enough Otabek spreads his legs further apart and allows Yuri to step between them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you want to do?” Otabek asks, reaching out and grabbing onto Yuri’s wrists to tug him just a little bit closer. He can’t rush this, whatever this is. He can see the anticipation written clearly across Yuri’s face, sure but he can also see the hidden undertones of hesitance. This is definitely different than last time and Otabek can’t tell if it’s good or bad. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can I kiss you?” Yuri asks after a moment, trying to sound confident but the sentence ends in a squeak. Otabek nods and tugs Yuri harder, closer until he’s on his lap, knees bracketing his hips. He runs his hands over Yuri’s thighs, trying to ease the tense muscles.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri nods, leaning closer and closer until his lips are pressed against Otabek’s. And this- this Otabek could have never predicted, no matter how good he is, not in a million years. Even if Yuri’s lips are soft and the kiss even more so, bordering on chaste it feels almost as intense as the first one, maybe more so. Yuri doesn’t taste like champagne or chlorine this time but like mint, probably from the tea he’d had earlier. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri’s hands come up to cup Otabek’s face, fingers moving across his skin and down his neck to tug at the collar of his shirt. Otabek leans forward and allows Yuri to tug his hoodie off without breaking the kiss; it lands somewhere across the room but Otabek is too caught up in the moment to pay attention to where. Yuri pulls on his hair, slides his hands under his shirt. It’s like he can’t keep still even when Otabek’s hands wrap around his hips and squeeze tightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri pulls back after a while, panting hard and lips slick with spit. He gets off of Otabek’s lap then and for a split second there’s a bit of worry curling itself along his spine but then Yuri falls to his knees between his open legs and it’s fine again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri rubs along Otabek’s thighs and asks, “can I suck you off?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now it’s Otabek’s breath that gets stuck in his throat and it feels like he’s choking on nothing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” He asks though it’s pointless because Yuri is already nodding and pulling Otabek’s sweats and boxers down just to mid-thigh. Still, Otabek asks because he has to make sure that Yuri knows that he doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have </span>
  </em>
  <span>to do anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It seems like Yuri knows already because he says, “I’ve wanted to do this since I met you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek hisses when Yuri’s cold fingers wrap around his cock, pumping him until he’s completely hard. It doesn’t take much to get him like that, just that look in Yuri’s eyes and his mouth so close to his cock. This is more than enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri starts with one long, kittenish lick from the base to the head and a soft sound escapes Otabek without him even noticing. If he had noticed it, right at that moment before it left his parted lips, he would have caught it, suppressed it but he’s too lost in the feeling to do anything about it. Yuri hears it and it seems to spur him on because suddenly, he’s trying to take all of Otabek in his mouth and only ends up gagging and coughing as he pulls back, his face red.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, slow down.” Otabek reaches down and swipes his thumb across Yuri’s bottom lip, wiping away the spit and pre-come that’s gathered there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Yuri says, voice already raspy and starts over again, slower. He starts with small sucks to the head of Otabek’s cock and then slowly sinks down further. He can see the way Yuri’s eyes water and as his teeth scrape lightly over the underside of the shaft Otabek realizes that this might be Yuri’s first time doing this. He lets him go on for a few more moments, watching his head bob up and down a few more times before he’s pulling him up with a hand under his jaw. “Was that okay?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek smiles, soft and gentle because Yuri’s voice sounds so wrecked and breathy already and it’s kind of cute. “How many times have you done that before?” He asks as Yuri sits himself on his lap again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri looks away, frowning. “Plenty,” he says, pouting and looking seconds away from crossing his arms over his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t lie,” Otabek teases and Yuri huffs out what could be considered a laugh. “It’s okay if it was your first time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But it wasn’t.” He combs his fingers through Otabek’s hair and pulls at those sensitive, short hairs right at the nape of his neck. “Are you going to fuck me or not?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or not,” Otabek says, fingers fumbling with the button of Yuri’s jeans. He’s so ridiculously overdressed and Otabek just gets the urge to rip everything from its seams. “Your cat is watching.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can m-move her to the bathroom,” Yuri says, gasping as Otabek’s knuckles brush over his cock. He’s already so </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard, </span>
  </em>
  <span>it’d be almost embarrassing if the way Otabek touched him didn’t make him feel so good. “Please, just-”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s good like this,” Otabek says, pulling Yuri’s cock out of the confines of his jeans and pumping a few times. Yuri gasps and Otabek catches the sound in his mouth as he leans in to kiss him. “It’s so good.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri has no choice but to agree, nodding frantically and tucking his head in the crook of Otabek’s neck. Otabek brings their cocks together, groaning at the burning sensation of skin against skin, hot and slick. It’s easy and perfect and each little sound that Yuri makes is worth every second of it. Otabek knows that he’s going to come like this: with Yuri on his lap and their cocks in his hand. Maybe it’s not as intense or all-consuming as last time but he can still feel those flames licking up his spine even as Yuri places soft kisses along his neck like this means the world to him, like he can’t get enough.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m going to come soon,” Yuri stutters out, gripping Otabek’s shirt so tightly in his hands that it wrinkles the material. “If you keep doing that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that a bad thing?” Otabek speeds up his pace because he’s close, too and this feels too good to delay. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He comes with Yuri’s name on his lips, choking on the syllables as he lets his head fall back on the couch. He thrusts his hips up once, twice, and keeps pumping his hand until Yuri is coming, too, mumbling nonsense as he nearly screams at the sensation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first thing that Otabek notices when he comes down from his high is Yuri’s cat curled up on the counter, bright green eyes on them. He shifts and Yuri seems to take that as discomfort because he’s moving away and standing on shaky legs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me go grab a towel.” He tucks his cock back into his pants and heads into the bathroom, looking more disheveled than when they started. Otabek does the same, their come having landed mostly on his hand and some on his shirt. He feels completely boneless and when Yuri comes back, hair undone from its braid and a towel in his hands that he gently uses to wipe Otabek down, Otabek feels a different kind of flame. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leans forward without really thinking much of it and places his lips over Yuri’s, slowly parting his lips as they kiss. Yuri doesn’t respond for a moment but then he’s pressing closer, towel forgotten as he somehow ends up back on Otabek’s lap. Now there’s no rush- both of them are sated and content. This is more of an afterthought. Otabek tangles his fingers in Yuri’s now loose hair, marveling at the softness and length of it and the soft noise that escapes Yuri when he pulls just so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re too good at this,” Yuri huffs, tilting his head back as Otabek places kisses along his jaw. Otabek should go soon, he knows that but this is too good, too nice and he finds himself wanting to stay right there on that couch with Yuri. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the end, without much prompt or hesitation, it’s Yuri that asks Otabek to stay. It’s mid-afternoon by then and the sun is brighter now. While Otabek is in the shower Yuri throws his clothes in the washer and leaves out a fresh pair of sweats for him. They’re his and while the length wouldn’t be much of a problem he wasn’t too sure if the fabric would be a tight fit or not. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still, Otabek puts them on without complaint and they seem to fit fine if a little tight. It’s not a bad look, especially since Yuri doesn’t have any shirts available and Otabek’s chest is in plain sight, still dotted with beads of water. His hair is combed back though still wet and when he catches Yuri staring he smiles a little bit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They end up back on the couch, side by side with the TV turned on. It mostly serves as background noise because pretty soon, Otabek is fast asleep, his arm around Yuri. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just one more time, Otabek thinks as he watches Yuri move around his apartment with more energy than is necessary. Just one more time he’d let Yuri drag him out to wherever it is that he wanted to go and then he could go home, free to enjoy himself before training starts over again. Second times were only coincidences, he tells himself. It’s just convenience, simple as that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri urges him to hurry as he throws Otabek his now clean clothes still warm from the dryer, an excited hitch in his voice. They’d just woken up from what was supposed to be a simple nap but now it was almost eight at night if the clock on Yuri’s stove was set to the right time. The TV is still on. It’s set to the food network and the nice, blonde lady on the screen is calmly explaining the ingredients she’s going to use to cook a meal for six. Otabek’s stomach growls then and Yuri informs him that there are brownies in the cupboard as he changes his clothes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t eat sweets,” Otabek tells him, instead picking out a container of strawberries from the fridge. “I’m on a diet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right. Is that a boxer thing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. It’s for that fight coming up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you going to be okay?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek looks up, startled. Yuri’s voice is closer now, full of actual worry and concern. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri comes around the counter and sits himself up on it, his feet dangling over the edge. He steals a strawberry from Otabek and takes a small bite, humming at the sweetness of it. “I’m not going to pry like last time,” he says, taking the top of the strawberry off and throwing it back in the container. Otabek frowns. “But I think you can take him.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think so?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri nods, finishing off the strawberry before reaching for his keys. “I know so. Now come on, we only have a few minutes before they start.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri doesn’t answer, of course. He grabs Otabek’s hand and leads him out of the apartment and down to the building’s garage. They take the stares and Otabek might just hate him a little for that. Yuri’s car is parked towards the exit, slick and black but the tiger bobblehead that sits on the dash grinning back at them ruins the image. It shakes its head when the engine starts and its grin reminds Otabek of the one stitched to the back of Yuri’s jacket. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek gets an idea of where they’re going when Yuri puts the address of someplace down in SoHo into the GPS, the lady’s robotic voice telling him to turn left at the intersection and keep going straight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What the hell is in SoHo?” Otabek asks, turning up the radio and stifling a laugh when he realizes the station it’s set to. “The Bee Gees, really?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My neighbors always play it,” Yuri says, choosing to answer that question instead of the first one as he reaches across to shove Otabek lightly. The song is soft, slow, and it sounds like what was playing earlier when they’d arrived at Yuri’s place, the music floating down from an open window somewhere and onto the street. “It’s catchy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s not too bad, Otabek thinks. “How old are you again?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sees Yuri’s roll his eyes. “Don’t boxers only listen to Eye of the Tiger?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek laughs softly. “This isn’t Rocky, Yuri. Yakov plays it sometimes, though, when he feels like I’m slacking. It’s motivating.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s your coach, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Otabek says, watching the traffic thin out until theirs is the only car racing across the dimly lit back streets and alleyways. “We listen to Beyoncé a lot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Beyoncé?” Yuri repeats.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Beyoncé </span>
  </em>
  <span>Beyoncé?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can’t imagine you throwing punches with Single Ladies playing in the background.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They seem to be getting closer and closer to their destination. Now, smooth asphalt turns to gravel that crunches under the car’s tires and music pours in from the building up ahead, so loud it shakes the ground. The space in front is riddled with cars, all of them old and run down and not nearly as expensive as Yuri’s. The place gives Otabek a bad feeling but Yuri says </span>
  <em>
    <span>trust me </span>
  </em>
  <span>and Otabek finds that he does. He trusts Yuri, even when he’s dragged him out to this abandoned fire station in fucking SoHo that’s not as abandoned as he’d thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek takes a deep breath as they get out of the car. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just one more time. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri leads them to a metal door a little off to the side. Otabek can hear the people inside, shouting over the music but he can’t make out any words. Yuri pounds his fist against the metal and it’s not long before the door opens just a fraction and a voice asks, “Password?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cut the shit. It’s just me,” Yuri says, rolling his eyes. Otabek has to do a double-take to make sure this is still the same Yuri that he’d just spent his day with. The door opens wider and now Otabek can see a face; brown skin and soft eyes and a smile despite Yuri’s harsh words. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yuri, the password.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Open the door or I tear it down,” Yuri threatens without any actual malice in his voice. The door opens then, a deep sigh coming from the man behind it. He doesn’t seem to notice Otabek at first but when he does he has to do a double-take, eyes going comically wide. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek expects him to say something but all he gets is a soft, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>oh,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>and then, “The password was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Phichit you’re amazing.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The words are clearly aimed at Yuri but he says them while staring at Otabek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Like hell am I saying that.” The man steps aside to let them in. The first thing Otabek notices are the people, hundreds of them, gathered around the room, pushing and shoving to get to the front and get a better view of the ring. And that- the sound of fist against flesh, the thud of a body falling- </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>is what stops Otabek’s heart altogether. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yuri,” he says, panic rising in his chest. “What-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey.” Yuri’s hand is on his arm, tugging him close. “You’re fine. We’re just here to watch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>illegal,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he whispers harshly like it’s some secret that only he knows. There’s so many people, so much noise. Otabek takes a step back and bumps against someone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s why we have Phichit,” Yuri says. “He’s the media guy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Media?” Otabek’s head snaps over to the man who he now knows is named Phichit. He gives Otabek a warm smile that’s supposed to be reassuring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Relax, I’m the one that makes sure nothing gets out. I’ll need your phones and any recording devices you’ve brought with you,” he says holding out his hand. Yuri hands over his phone immediately but Otabek hesitates. He could leave, he knows no one would stop him but Yuri is looking at him expectantly. He hands his phone over in the end, hoping no one notices the way his hands shake as he does. Phichit gives them the go-ahead and lets them go down the short hallway and to the main room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek can feel all eyes on him as he steps through the crowd, the hairs at the back of his neck standing straight. Even the music stops and it’s so quiet he can hear people whispering as they pass. He’s on edge, half expecting to see the flash of a camera but he knows Phichit has everyone’s devices stored somewhere and there’s none of that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someone says, “no way that’s him,” and the person next to them confirms that yes, that is him. He hears that nickname again, even there in what feels like a completely different world, he hears it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s The Beast. What’s he doing here?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek wished he could know the answer to that question, too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri seems unaffected by all of this, face void of any emotion as he leads Otabek to the back of the room. There’s a table set back there and a man with silver hair sitting comfortably on one of the chairs. Yuri introduces him as Victor and they both look at him like he’s supposed to know who he is. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s so nice to meet you,” Victor says, extending his hand for Otabek to take. “We don’t really get a lot of celebrities down here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek opens his mouth, about to say something like </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not a celebrity </span>
  </em>
  <span>but Yuri elbows his side before he has a chance to. “It’s nice to meet you, too,” he says instead, taking a seat at the table with Yuri. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is Katsuki fighting today?” Yuri asks and it’s so weird how he just seems to fit right in and no one is staring at </span>
  <em>
    <span>him. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It dawns on Otabek that this isn’t his first time here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We weren’t expecting you down here today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wasn’t planning on coming.” Under the table, Yuri’s knee bumps against Otabek’s. “I wanted to show him though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yurio, you know what could happen if-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>if,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yuri says, biting his lip and looking at Otabek with a worried look in his eyes. “Just this once. He’s not fighting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah.” Victor leans back on the chair, looking between the two of them like he knows something they don’t. Otabek feels jittery, restless. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yuri had said, so sure of himself. “Of course. Just be careful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s hot in there. Hot and stifling like they’re in a boiler. Otabek knows it’s just his nerves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri and Victor fall into a conversation, talking about things that have nothing to do with him and so Otabek tunes them out, eyes traveling towards the ring no matter how hard he tries to look away. Everyone seems to have gotten over the shock of seeing him there because they’ve finally put their attention back on the fight going on in front of them. It’s nothing like he’s used to- there’s no professionalism, no sponsorships, no judges, no titles. This is boxing at its purest form and Otabek feels like he’s falling in love with the sport all over again. There are no gloves, either but it’s not bare-knuckled. The two girls have their hands and wrists tightly wrapped, softening the blows but they’re just as harsh, splitting skin and drawing blood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek watches them for a long time and realizes that there are no rounds, either. They go in and they go hard until they can’t go anymore and that- that’s the most amazing part of it all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s Mila,” Victor says, pointing at the girl with the wavy, auburn hair that’s been declared the winner. Her smile is wide and her face shines, even through the sweat and the blood that’s spilling from a cut over her eye. “Isn’t she amazing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek nods, watching as she leaves the ring, and embraces another girl in the crowd. The rink girls come in, then and that’s one thing that doesn’t change, Otabek supposes, underground or not. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yuuri’s next,” Victor says and Otabek’s head snaps to the man beside him, worry creeping up his throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Relax,” Yuri says, looking like he’s about to laugh. “That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>Yuuri, not me. That’s why they call me Yurio: to not get us confused.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek’s lips form an </span>
  <em>
    <span>O </span>
  </em>
  <span>shape and Victor laughs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’d destroy him up there,” he says, eyes on Yuri, and Otabek can tell that they’re thinking the same thing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I could do it if I wanted,” Yuri huffs. “But I don’t.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuuri Katsuki, as Otabek comes to find, is all dark hair and lean muscles. He has nothing in common with Yuri except for the fact that they share a name. Up there, standing in that ring with his hands wrapped and his hair slicked back, he just about looks like the least menacing guy that Otabek has ever seen. Still, Victor promises him a good show as he stares up at the man with a dreamy look in his eyes and a dopey smile on his face. Yuri pretends to gag and mutters something like, “they’re so gross.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There’s money passing hands, not as discrete as it is in regular fights but none of this is legal anyway so no one cares too much. People are weaving through the crowds carrying trays of drinks, charging five bucks for a shot. Otabek scoffs at the price but Victor gets them each a glass, anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hate that guy,” Yuri says, looking up at the other Yuuri. The fight has started and though it’s just teasing for now the crowd seems to be going wild, pushing and shoving to be able to get closer, to get a better look. “But he’s good, I’ll give him that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s good because he has me,” Victor says, gulping down his drink in one go without even making a face. “I’m the best coach here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, and you used to be our best fighter, too.” Yuri gulps his drink down, too and at any other time, Otabek would have tried to stop him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Victor sighs. “Let’s not talk about that now, yeah?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The first punch that lands is against Yuuri’s jaw. It makes an ugly thudding sound and Yuuri staggers back a few steps. The crowd seems to hold its breath for a moment until he’s back and shows that he’s fine and it’s like a switch has been flipped because suddenly this man, who Otabek had once taken as soft and fragile, is like a storm without mercy. Otabek can’t help the surprised sound that he makes, watching the scene unfold in front of him in slow motion. He’s never seen anyone move so fast or land so many punches as Yuuri does, his face calm and tranquil. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You trained him?” Otabek asks Victor, not bothering to hide the awe in his voice. Victor nods, look so full of pride as Yuuri is declared the winner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Since the beginning,” Victor says. “He’s gotten so much better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek’s eyes follow Yuuri as he steps off the ring and heads for them, the cut on his lip still bleeding and his hands still wrapped. He stops about a foot away, jaw dropped and eyes wide in surprise. “Woah, no way,” he says, stepping closer and dropping himself on Victor’s lap despite the obviously free chair beside him. “Yurio, don’t tell me-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s not fighting,” Yuri says for about the millionth time that night. “It’s a one-time thing, Katsuki.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuuri leans over the table and extends his hand, which Otabek takes. “It’s so nice to meet you. I saw your fight against Georgi the other day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek smiles kindly. “Thanks. I saw you up there and that was really amazing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuuri’s smile is bright. “I have a pretty good coach,” he says and Victor grins, wrapping his arms around Yuuri’s waist and pulling him close. A few moments later a man stops by with an envelope that he promptly hands Yuuri. There’s money inside, hundred dollar bills held together with a rubber band. “You think this is enough for rent?” He asks Victor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Victor takes the money quickly. “Definitely. I think we’re good for another two weeks.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How much do you make per fight?” Otabek asks, curious now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuuri shrugs. “Depends. The pay is decent most times though it’s nothing close to what you make.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek nods, leaning back against the chair. Yuri places his hand over his thigh and squeezes whispering, “are you okay?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“’M fine,” Otabek says, surprisingly calm now that he’s gotten used to the atmosphere and people have stopped staring. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll leave in a few minutes, yeah?” Yuri says and Otabek nods, turning back to the two men in front of him. Another fight has started but they don’t pay attention to that one. It’s obvious there’s history between the three of them but Otabek doesn’t know where it stems from. Maybe he’ll ask on their way back though he knows that, truthfully, he won’t. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stick around for another hour or so, sharing drinks and conversation and laughter. Yuri doesn’t drink after that first glass because he’s driving back and Otabek is grateful for that. His hand stays on Otabek’s thigh for the rest of their time there, a warm and soothing weight that helps Otabek relax. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How’d you even find this place?” Otabek asks as they head back to Yuri’s car, their phones now recovered from Phichit. He feels a little unsteady on his feet. Maybe it’s the adrenaline or the fear or the drinks he’d had. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told you,” Yuri says, sliding into the driver’s seat. “I had my fair share of teenage rebellion.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” Otabek says though this isn’t really what he’d envisioned when Yuri had said that. The car starts but Yuri doesn’t move. The radio is playing the same song from earlier. “Jesus, does this station only play one song?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri reaches out and combs his fingers through Otabek’s hair, quiet as he does. Otabek seems to know what he wants because he quickly forgets about the station and turns to face Yuri, the clear blue of his eyes the only thing he can see for a moment. He reaches out and tilts Yuri’s head up with a finger under his chin before he’s leaning in and kissing him, soft and slow like he’s being guided by the beat of the song. It doesn’t last long; it’s not meant to and when Otabek pulls back he finds that he’s kind of been wanting to do that all night long. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” Yuri says, clearing his throat and backing the car out of the space. “I shouldn’t have dragged you out here without telling you first.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Otabek says, suddenly lacking the proper words. “I’ll forgive you but this is the last time, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know. I’m sorry,” he says again and falls quiet for the rest of the ride. Otabek quickly inputs his address into the GPS before they enter any major streets and he relaxes back into the seat, watching the street lights pass as Yuri drives. They reach his apartment too quickly and Otabek hesitates to get out. It was just one more time and yet he almost tells Yuri he wants to see him again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks for today,” he says instead, pulling his hood over his head and opening the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No problem. I’ll see you around, Otabek.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek stays out on the sidewalk until Yuri’s car drives out of sight and then he stays there for a few moments longer, trying to catch his breath. He spends the elevator ride up to his apartment deleting the messages Yuri had sent that morning.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Training starts up again and Otabek can finally, for the most part, push Yuri out of his mind. It’s easy not to think about him when he’s working his body to the limit and back, as hard and relentlessly as he can. His routine falls into place, strict like it has been with every fight before this one but now it’s even more so. He goes on jogs in the early morning, far before the sun has even though about rising and a chill still lingers in the air. Breakfast is a light and fast affair and then after that, he heads off to the gym where Yakov is already waiting for him, setting up the equipment and getting everything ready. Otabek feels like he barely has time to rest now but that’s fine. It’s always been better this way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuri still sends an onslaught of texts though, not at all put off by Otabek’s lack of response. It’s mostly all pictures of his cat with details of his day thrown in randomly. Otabek likes to pretend that he doesn’t go through the messages at the end of the day, a small smile on his face as he does, alone in that big locker room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yakov tells him that Leroy will be down from Canada by the end of the month to sign their contract and the words make it feel like there’s a heavy stone sinking rapidly in Otabek’s stomach. He’s nervous, but he’d never admit it, not out loud. Admitting that he’s nervous is like admitting to some weakness and it’s only something that he’ll let himself feel when he’s alone, his reflection in the mirror the only thing keeping him company. He's gotten bigger, just a tiny bit. His chest is broader, the muscles on his stomach harder and under the glistening of sweat he can see that his skin has gotten just a bit more golden, a bit more blemished. His nose is slightly crooked from one too many hits but it’s not too bad. He’s seen bad when he’s gone to his hotel room, eyes puffy and purple, lips bleeding and legs shaking. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>was bad and maybe if he was lucky enough, this time wouldn’t be like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His day ends with an ice bath, the chill soothing his aching and sore muscles. It’s probably one of the best parts of his day except for the moment he hits his bed after a too-long shower that runs hot, lukewarm, and then unbearably cold. He takes this small moment of peace and quiet to look over his notifications, his legs submerged up to mid-calf in the icy cold water. There’s not much today- he usually takes care to not look at social media or fan accounts and if he finds himself reading through a handful of some two million comments under one of his pictures on Instagram then he’s sure to snap out of whatever stupor he’s in quickly. But now, there are only two messages, each one from Yuri. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first, of course, is a picture of his cat, Mily stretched out over the couch in the most uncomfortable position imaginable but it seems to work for her. The second message reads: </span>
  <em>
    <span>it’s so cold. why did I decide to live here again? </span>
  </em>
  <span>followed by an emoji that looks half annoyed and half inconvenienced but strikingly like Yuri if he were a yellow blob. Otabek laughs because lately, the weather hasn’t been too bad, just a few degrees above tolerable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek chews on his lip, finger hovering over the delete button but at the last moment, almost without thinking about it, he replies for the first time. It’s just a picture, his legs sitting in the water with the bruise on his knee, all dark purples, and blues, visible. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s not so bad </span>
  </em>
  <span>he captions it and only hesitates a few seconds before sending it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A moment passes and instead of another text, Otabek gets a call, Yuri’s unsaved number flashing across the screen. He feels like he’s memorized it by now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shouldn’t. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows </span>
  </em>
  <span>he shouldn’t. Otabek couldn’t afford any distractions right now, and if Yuri Plisetsky was one thing it was that: a distraction. Still, the ache was there and so was that itch Otabek could never quite scratch. He can already hear Yuri’s voice, even before he’s picked up the call. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you were dead,” Yuri says in that serious, deadpan tone of his. “It’s not polite to ignore people’s texts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek lets out a low laugh, feeling lightheaded at the sound of that voice. Maybe he’d been fooling himself this whole time thinking that he didn’t want anything to do with Yuri. Maybe he’s just awestruck, too caught up in his feelings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” he says, shifting his legs around. “I’ve been busy with training.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. I’ve been busy dying from the cold. I was thinking about moving to Jamaica. I can’t stand this damn weather.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yuri, it’s not that cold.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuri huffs. “I can’t feel my toes, Bek- Otabek. Besides, what is that, a damn ice bath? You’re awful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek hums in agreement because yes, that is an ice bath but no, it’s not that bad. He drags his feet out of the water and grabs the towel next to him with his free hand. He shivers a little and dries his legs off quickly. He doesn’t think he could stand a full-body ice bath any time soon but he’ll have to later when his joints start hurting. Talk about not being able to feel your toes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuri rambles on about this or that, his voice lighter now than it was before. He recounts everything that he’s told Otabek throughout the last few days, his voice soft in a way Otabek has never heard it before. He sounds kind of excited, breathy, and sweet and Otabek can just imagine him there, following him around the locker room, smile wide and cheeks flushed. Otabek tries to change his clothes with one hand while he holds his phone with the other, not paying as much attention to Yuri’s words as he should. He slips his shorts down and exchanges them for sweatpants. That’s all he wears, now with so much frequency that he wonders if he’s ever worn an actual pair of jeans in his life. Jeans aren’t his thing, though. It always takes him so long to find a pair that fit, the effort isn’t worth it in the end if he’s just going to wear them a few times before they inevitably end up in the trash, the fabric worn down and tearing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“… so what do you think?” He hears Yuri say as the waistband of Otabek’s sweats slaps against the skin of his hips, the words snapping Otabek out of his pants filled reverie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuri sighs. “Were you even listening to me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was changing,” Otabek says in a way of explanation, slipping on his shoes as he does. In his bag go his hand wraps, gloves, and shorts. Yakov is waiting for him up front, keys in his hands as he waits patiently by the doors. It’s late, probably later than it should be and Otabek has only a few hours to grab dinner and go to bed, only to wake up in a few hours to do this all again. “What did you say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said you should stop by some time.” A pause. “I want to see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yuri,” Otabek says, feeling like he’s swaying on his feet. The feeling is mutual; he misses Yuri’s face, his eyes, his soft hands. He misses </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yuri </span>
  </em>
  <span>and it’s almost laughable how he’d thought he could stay away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t have to do anything,” Yuri assures him, voice strained. “We can just watch a movie or go get something to eat.” He sounds </span>
  <em>
    <span>worried, </span>
  </em>
  <span>scared that Otabek will reject him or turn him away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek smiles softly but that falls from his face quickly when he sees Yakov waiting for him, arms crossed over his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you talking to?” He asks, opening the door for him to step out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a friend,” Otabek says and on the other end of the line, he thinks he can hear Yuri laugh. “Are you taking me home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yakov nods and unlocks his car, staying behind to lock up the door. Usually, there’d be reporters and paparazzi out here but now it’s so late that everyone’s just decided to go home for the day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not at your place yet?” Yuri asks. “It’s late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can see that.” The sarcasm doesn’t sit as heavily on his tongue as it once would have, a day or two ago when he’d found Yuri as nothing more than an inconvenience, a means to an end, a warm body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You tired?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yakov joins him in the driver’s seat and starts the car. He feels like he’ll pass out right there in the passenger seat with the soft hum of the engine filling his ears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Otabek sighs, leaning his head against the window. Yuri doesn’t say anything for a long while and it’s as if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants </span>
  </em>
  <span>Otabek to fall asleep right there and then. He could, actually, if he just relaxed into the smooth, cool leather of the seat and let himself go. It’d be so easy but he doesn’t think he could stand the struggle of getting himself awake enough to trudge up to his apartment. It’s not worth it- he can wait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can go if you want,” Yuri says, finally and his voice is soft as if he’s scared that Otabek has fallen asleep right then and there while on the phone with him. “If you’re too tired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you’re okay. Stay on the phone.” And now Yakov casts him a weird look, frowning a bit as he does. It’s so unlike Otabek to be on the phone with someone, especially now, when it’s so late and as far as a</span>
  <em>
    <span>nyone </span>
  </em>
  <span>is concerned he doesn’t have anyone in his life that he’d so willingly talk to, not like this not now. “I’m almost at my place anyway.” But even if Yakov’s eyes are curious Otabek knows he won’t ask.  It’s none of his business anyway but briefly, Otabek wonders how he’d react if he knew exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>who </span>
  </em>
  <span>was on the other side of this call, probably splayed out on his bed with his shirt riding up high enough to expose that soft strip of his tummy and his hair strewn all over the pillow. There are a million different scenarios, a million different things that could happen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they reach Otabek’s building, surprisingly faster than he’d expected, Yakov bids him goodnight and tells him to head to bed early. It’s what he says every day, right after dropping him off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you nervous?” Yuri asks him right as the elevator dings and opens in front of him. Otabek steps inside and presses the button for the top floor, leaning against the fall wall. His body feels heavy but restless nonetheless, and he knew he should’ve taken one last run around the block after Yakov made him stop for the night, but the ice bath alone had been much more appealing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you tired?” Otabek asks, repeating Yuri’s question. It’s late, not just for him but for Yuri, too even though sometimes it’s hard for Otabek to imagine them in the same city, such a small distance between them. Yuri is like a distant dream, not a reality but his voice is right there in his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was,” Yuri says. “You know; I think you were right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About?” Otabek’s apartment is cool and dark and when he steps in through the front door he breathes a long sigh of relief. Fuck the shower, he’s going straight to bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cheap champagne. I found this really good one in this cute, rundown place just downtown and- wow, wow it’s good. Who knew?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never said anything about cheap champagne being good,” Otabek retorts, frowning. He sheds his clothes as he heads up the stairs to his room, leaving them strewn all over his living room and the stairs. He knows he’s going to hate himself in the morning but that’s tomorrow and this is now and so the only thing in his mind is sleep. “What are you doing drinking so late?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Champagne is champagne,” Yuri says, repeating Otabek’s words from that first night. “Otabek-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing right now?” He doesn’t even bother throwing the covers over himself, just kicks them off to the foot of the bed and he knows that later, maybe in an hour or two, maybe just before his alarm goes off he’ll wake up shivering because it’s too damn cold ( he’ll try to blame it on his cooling system but he knows it’s just his fault) and then he’ll grab the covers and throw them over himself, and it’ll be so </span>
  <em>
    <span>warm, </span>
  </em>
  <span>so cozy that he’ll fall asleep immediately cocooned in those ridiculously expensive covers that he’d bought years ago when he was still reckless with his money. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>that- </span>
  </em>
  <span>that moment so warm and homely makes Otabek think that love is real and it rests somewhere between his covers and the edges of a deep sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuri laughs across the city, soft and sweet because Otabek’s just said something dumb that he somehow finds funny for some reason. “Really? Phone sex?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek chokes up, coughs and maybe he would’ve laughed, too if he hadn’t been so surprised by Yuri’s words. “No, I-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright. I was joking.” There’s the rustling of sheets, maybe a soft mew that Otabek manages to catch before it’s gone. “I’m just talking to you, enjoying this champagne. You should try some.” Maybe that’s just Yuri speak for </span>
  <em>
    <span>you should come over. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Otabek doesn’t think any champagne, cheap or expensive, could taste that good. “How about you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Across the city is Yuri, laid out on his bed with a flute of cheap champagne held delicately between the fingers of one hand while the other holds his phone up to his ear. Across the city is Yuri under his glass ceiling and Otabek wonders if right now, at this moment, they’re looking at the same sky. There are no stars, there probably never were but there’s the moon, at least. “I’m in bed, ‘bout to fall asleep.” He rubs his face, curls up in a ball on his side, and closes his eyes. He listens to the low hum of Yuri’s breathing, the light static of the call. “Yuri-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright,” Yuri assures him. “Just go to sleep.” But the click that signals the end of a call never comes and Otabek finds himself falling asleep to background noise; the rustle of fabric, Yuri’s breathing, the soft mew’s of a cat. “Hey, I can see you again right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Otabek says right away, not sure if he means it or if it’s his half-asleep brain that desperately wants to see Yuri. Either way, he catches the soft sigh that comes from across the city right before falling asleep, his phone still between his ear and the pillow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never quite catches what Yuri says next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Training continues and Otabek finds himself talking to Yuri on the phone almost every night, worn down and exhausted and aching. Every day the weather seems to get significantly warmer as the days progressed and the sun seems to shine just a bit brighter. It’s been a few weeks and the end of the month draws to a steady close as time progresses, though Otabek tries to cling desperately to the last few days before they pass too quickly. It seems that every day Yuri has to remind him that it’ll be okay and though the sentiment is appreciated, Otabek doesn’t necessarily feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>okay. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t tell Yuri that, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are only a week and a few days left before Leroy comes down to New York and lately, that’s all Otabek has been able to think about it. There’s a lot of talks all over the place from the MGM down to the underground circuits (as Yuri’s told him), people already placing their bets, hundreds of thousands of </span>
  <em>
    <span>millions </span>
  </em>
  <span>of dollars currently passing hands and it boils Otabek’s blood to know that most people are voting for that Canadian fuck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the money is good. Otabek always tells himself before a fight; the money is good and the payoff even better and if he can go home with the pride of knowing that he’s won, whether it be his first or his thousandth fight, if he can just go home with that feeling at the end of the day- well, he’ll take a fist to the face every day just to cling to that feeling a little longer. Besides, 500 million is no joke. He could retire with that money, move away to some villa in Italy and grow grapes until he’s old and rotting and he has nothing to worry about. He knows he’ll stay, though, not necessarily for the money but more for the fight as it’s always been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vaguely, Otabek wonders if his father has heard the news. It’s not much, yet but he always calls even though Otabek ignores them every time, letting it go to voicemail until he’s readied himself enough to listen to it. But lately, there hasn’t been a call, not even a knock at his door sometime between midnight and sunrise when emotions run the strongest. There’s been nothing but he’s not worried about it, even now, sometime around noon when he’s stopped for a snack (strawberries that somehow remind him of Yuri’s brick and glass apartment) and a quick drink of water. There are people gathered around today, most of the other guys Yakov trains but there are cameras, too watching him punch bags and jump rope and go jogging. In the beginning, it had been embarrassing, weird. Now, it was just another aspect of his life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could use a good nap. As he looks in the mirror and sees the bags under his eyes, bags that come from restless nights tossing and turning, feeling overheated both with and without the sheets thrown over him, he wonders how long those have actually been there. They’re not too dark but just enough to be noticeable but people ask questions nonetheless. There’s no respect for privacy here in the world of professional boxing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s in the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face when he hears the automated </span>
  <em>
    <span>ding </span>
  </em>
  <span>that signals that someone’s just entered the gym. Usually, this wouldn’t be unusual but the music has quieted and almost everyone has stopped talking. Whoever it is that’s just walked in has to be important, at least important enough to get a whole gym full of such a rowdy crowd to quiet down. Otabek stops for a second, fingers gripping the edges of the sink, not too hard but certainly enough to leave an ache in his joints. Someone important means less gym time for Otabek and more useless talking. Really, when he walks out there who else does he expect but Nikolai Plisetsky? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to pretend that his breath doesn’t stutter in his lungs when he sees Yuri standing a bit behind his grandfather, hands in the pockets of that ugly, ugly, (ugly!) tiger sweater that he’d worn that second time they’d met at that café. He’s staring around, taking in his surroundings. He hasn’t seen Otabek yet and he makes a point of looking away before he does, not wanting to do something dumb like accidentally make eye contact with Yuri. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our man of the hour!” Nikolai calls, arms extended on either side of him like he’s going to pull Otabek into a hug but instead his hands land on his shoulders, bare and sweaty, and he smiles wide. “How are you doing? How’s the training coming along?” He’s oddly cheery. It’s a little unsettling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek can feel Yuri’s eyes on him. “It’s good. Everything’s good.” He smiles for effect but it’s suddenly </span>
  <em>
    <span>stifling </span>
  </em>
  <span>in there, more than it was before. Otabek’s gloves and hand wraps hang loose around his bare shoulders. “Can I ask-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m here to see you, of course.” There’s a little spark of something in his eyes, something that Otabek can’t quite make out. “Even Yuri came along. You must be something special, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something like that, Otabek thinks, eyes finally flicking down to Yuri out of his own will. He hadn’t meant to look but he couldn’t help it, the need to satisfy his curiosity too strong to ignore. His face is passive, his hair pulled back in a ponytail that’s just slightly crooked as if he’d done it in a rush, not thinking much about his appearance. His eyes are on Otabek, strong and unwavering and his lips are set on a straight line that certainly can’t mean anything good if he’s thinking so hard about whatever it is that’s on his mind. He seems uninterested, bored, and stoic surrounded by so many people that are paying more attention to him than they should. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why he’s our best,” Yakov says, pride gleaming in his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right.” Nikolai draws back and wipes his hands on a handkerchief in the breast pocket of his suit jacket. He takes his liberties looking around and for the first time, Otabek realizes just how out of place he looks there. Everyone else has moved on and back to their training except for them and it seems like Nikolai has no intention of letting Otabek get back to his work. “I’m sure your coach has told you about what will happen at the end of the month.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek nods. His hair is falling over his eyes, dark and wet with sweat. “Leroy’s coming down and we’re signing the contract but that’s still a week away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I know. I simply wanted to invite my favorite fighter-“ </span>
  <em>
    <span>My goldmine, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Otabek thinks, remembering the words and rumors he’d heard after his fights. That’s all he was, all he’d ever be. “-out for a nice dinner. I feel like you deserve it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuri shifts and his shoes squeak against the floor as he does. Otabek has half a mind to ask him for his opinion or if he’s even going in the first place but he knows better than that. They’re not supposed to know each other at least not in the way that they do and it’s strange standing in front of the guy that he fucked and has been talking to almost every day for the past month without so much as saying as a word to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d love to,” Otabek answers. “But I don’t have clothes here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s fine,” Nikolai says, laughing a bit at this mild inconvenience. “You have time to head home and change. There’s no rush.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek, in reality, really doesn’t want to go. He’s not all that hungry, especially not for the scraps that rich people call food but it’s an invitation that he simply can’t refuse. Yakov is looking at him expectantly, telling him with his eyes what he can’t say with his mouth and that is </span>
  <em>
    <span>you better go with this man or else. </span>
  </em>
  <span>As soon as the conversation is over, though, Otabek scampers off to the locker room, taking deep, stabilizing breaths as he sits himself down on the bench inside, his face cradled in his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It can’t be that bad, he reasons with himself but knows that it’s not necessarily true. Dinner with these kinds of people, rich and important, usually meant business though he didn’t know what kind of business that could be now. He’d been doing fine, everything was </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine </span>
  </em>
  <span>but Nikolai was there anyway and now Otabek realizes that that look in his eyes is the same one he’d had when he’d first proposed the idea of the fight with Leroy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s just a dinner,” comes a voice, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>voice, bouncing off the cold tiled walls of the locker room. Otabek looks up and finds Yuri there, looking at him with the corners of his lips curled up in what he’s sure is supposed to be a reassuring smile. “No need to look so distressed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yuri,” Otabek breathes, not sure if he means it as a question or a sigh of relief. “What are you doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trying to comfort you,” he says, taking three steps forward. Otabek almost expects someone to come in after him but the door remains closed. “It’s just dinner.” He stands there hesitant, uncertain. He’s close enough to touch if only Otabek could reach out and do it but neither of them moves to close the gap. Yuri was talking about wanting to see Otabek but now that they’re standing right in front of each other it’s like they didn’t know what to do or how to move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, after a thick tension and a long silence, Otabek is the one that reaches out first. He grabs onto Yuri’s hands, the touch just enough to be felt and he tugs him forward, closer so that their legs brush together and they’re sharing the same space. Yuri’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>comforting him </span>
  </em>
  <span>and now that they’re the only ones in there his face is significantly different than how it was out there. “How is it that you always manage to show up out of nowhere?” He asks, dropping his eyes down to their hands as his thumb grazes over Yuri’s knuckles in the gentlest way he can manage. Yuri sighs, the exhalation ruffling the hairs on top of Otabek’s head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Luck,” Yuri shrugs, “and maybe a little bit of determination.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re something else, Yuri Plisetsky.” There’s not much to it when Otabek drops Yuri’s hand in favor of tracing his fingers up his arm up to his shoulder and across the sensitive skin of his neck. Otabek hears his breath catch but that just spurs him on. “And you’re insufferable.” The curve of his jaw is soft and that leads a path to his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything else?” Yuri asks, lips parting just the slightest so Otabek’s thumb slips inside. He bites at the tip, eyes falling half-closed as he does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I kind of hate you,” Otabek says without any actual meaning behind his words. He grabs Yuri’s face, squeezing his cheeks hard enough to bring his lips into a pout and then he drags him down, so close that he can practically taste him. “But I’m glad that you’re here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They don’t move any closer, though Otabek desperately wanted to. There would be time for that later after everything had been said and done. It was all easier in the dark cover of night, anyway, not a locker room that smelled like sweat and other bodily odors. Still, Yuri lets his eyes fall shut as he leans into Otabek’s touch. There’s a lot of trust behind that, the kind that leaves Otabek breathless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few more moments Yuri leaves Otabek so he can take a shower and change. By the time he comes out, fresh and smelling not as bad as before, Nikolai and Yuri are long gone. Yakov is waiting for him there, ushering him out of the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you know what Nikolai wants?” Otabek asks before they part ways but Yakov seems just as confused as he is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t know,” Yakov says. “Hey, did you see the Plisetsky kid in the locker rooms? Went running in there like he was being chased.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He had to pee or something.” Otabek shrugs. “I don’t know; we didn’t talk much.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yakov nods, seemingly content with Otabek’s answer but he still looks at him with something weird in his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek takes his time on the ride back to his place. He has </span>
  <em>
    <span>time </span>
  </em>
  <span>and finds that he doesn’t really care about what Nikolai will think if he arrives late. He takes another shower in his apartment, lathering his favorite soap on his skin until it’s red and soft and he will undoubtedly smell like vanilla for the rest of the night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His suit, he finds- his </span>
  <em>
    <span>only </span>
  </em>
  <span>suit- still fits him pretty well. It’s a bit tight around the shoulders and the legs are short and, without a question, someone as snobby as Nikolai might notice easily but it’s not the worst thing that he’s ever worn. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Jacket is uncomfortable and he doesn’t put it on until he’s handing his keys over to the valet. The restaurant is French, with a line trailing out the doors and going for miles. Otabek, of course, gets in without a problem. They’re already waiting for him, he finds, sitting at the table at the very back, away from cameras and reporters. There’s one empty seat, which he promptly slips into at his arrival.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope I’m not too late,” he says, reaching for the wine already placed in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all,” Nikolai says. “I understand how New York traffic can be at this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek nods and doesn’t say anything that might give away that it was not, in fact, traffic that made him late but rather his own laziness and the need to sit in bed for long amounts of time while staring at nothing. It’s awfully quiet in there except for the soft hum of a perfectly tuned piano in the background. Instantly, even before he sits down next to Yakov and across the table from Nikolai and Yuri, he feels out of place. It’s a particular feeling, one that creeps up his spine further and further with each pair of eyes that settles on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feel free to order what you want. I’ll be paying for the evening. There’s some wine that I’d recommend, it’s the best here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Otabek says, not even bothering to look at the menu. He’ll have whatever it is that everyone else is having. His stomach sits empty and it seems like it’s going to stay like that for the rest of the night; he has no appetite at the moment. “I prefer champagne, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pause. Out of the corner of his eye, Otabek can see Yuri shift his eyes over to him, the corners of his lips curled up. “I think I can help with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The evening, Otabek thinks, is awfully dull and boring. It’s nothing less or more than he could’ve expected but he’s sure Nikolai didn’t drag him all the way there, to one of the most expensive restaurants in the city, to talk about </span>
  <em>
    <span>foie gras</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Otabek doesn’t ask, mostly because he feels like the actual answer will be all too unpleasant and also because Yakov keeps sending him sharp looks throughout the night. It’s not his fault that he can’t stop shifting. The collar of his shirt keeps digging into his neck and the tie is too </span>
  <em>
    <span>tight</span>
  </em>
  <span> but he feels like it’ll be impolite to loosen it right there at the table. There are </span>
  <em>
    <span>rules </span>
  </em>
  <span>to this and Otabek doesn’t know a single one of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows that the dinner part of their meeting is over when Nikolai pushes his plate away and clears his throat, wiping carefully at the corner of his mouth. Everyone follows suit, even if they haven’t quite finished eating. Yuri is the one that seems the most relaxed out of all of them which makes sense seeing as the all-important man sitting next to him is nothing more than his grandfather. He’s drumming his fingers against the table, bored and waiting for something that will seemingly come after the night is done. He and Otabek haven’t talked much, at least not with words but Yuri’s eyes, as Otabek has come to find, are very expressive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Yakov- Otabek doesn’t think he’s seen the man have a single expression all night. He’s passive, a slow talker, someone who knows what they want and with enough time to achieve it. When all is done and those clear blue eyes so much like Yuri’s settle on him, Otabek knows he’s fucked before even a single word is uttered between them. He can physically see the mood change: Yuri straightens his back, his eyes cast down on the table, Yakov is rigid and Otabek- well, he doesn’t really know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what </span>
  </em>
  <span>to do. He keeps his eyes fixed on Nikolai like a target, one that he’s never quite seen before and doesn’t know how to approach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Nikolai, however, that approaches first. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to talk about your fight with Leroy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course. Of course, </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nikolai clears his throat again. His fingers are threaded together, hands resting on the table in front of him. His suit is immaculate, pristine. This is a man that has aged well and knows it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, obviously we want to maximize the profits and bring in as much capital as possible. I have… a suggestion for you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A suggestion, he says but the look in his eyes makes Otabek think that he might not have a choice in the matter either way. Yakov shifts and when Otabek turns to look at him he finds him frowning, uncertain. The silence of the restaurant creeps in from all corners and it feels like everyone hears what Nikolai says next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you to lose that fight,” he says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, there’s nothing and then Otabek laughs. It’s a harsh sound, not at all a happy one. He falls back against the chair, his arms crossing over his chest defensively. He feels the urge to curse, to yell, to throw something but he remains still, calm. All eyes are on him, hesitant, waiting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would I do that?” He asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Entertainment,” Nikolai says it with a shrug. Of course, to him, it means nothing. “That’s what this is. We provide what people want to watch and as of now, all bets are on Leroy. He’s planning on retiring after this match. It’d be nice to watch him go without any losses under his belt. He’s… one of our best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Otabek scoffs. “But what about me? Leroy gets to retire with a clean record and I’m just his stand-in, right? The guy that was always meant to lose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve already lost once. I don’t think a second time will matter much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nikolai has barely gotten the words out of his mouth before Otabek is standing and slamming his hands down on the table, not too hard but hard enough to make the glasses of expensive champagne and wine shake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can talk about this,” Yakov says, holding his hands up in front of him as if trying to stop something from happening. He has an apologetic smile on his face and Otabek kind of hates him for it. “Tomorrow. He just needs some time to think it over, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek finds himself so angry that he’s rushing out of the restaurant without even thinking about it. He waits for the Valet to bring his car over, thinking impatiently that he should’ve brought his bike instead. Someone is calling his name, getting closer and closer and Otabek doesn’t quite register who it is until Yuri is standing right beside him, a hand on his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” He asks, eyebrows knitted together in clear concern. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just dinner, huh?” He knows he shouldn’t be angry at Yuri but the way he rips his arm from his grip is near instinct. “Go back inside, Yuri.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t do this,” Yuri says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t do what? Look, just go back inside, Yuri. Have another glass of champagne, enjoy your night. Just let me be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The valet comes around and hands the keys over to Otabek. He hesitates for just a moment, taking in Yuri’s flushed face, before sliding into the driver’s seat. He steps on the gas, keeping a steady pace well above the speed limit until he reaches his apartment. He feels overwhelmed like he’s suffocating. His jacket comes off and he’s barely made it to the elevator before his shirt comes unbuttoned halfway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His apartment is cool and dark. Otabek leaves it like that, trailing up the stairs and discarding his clothes as he goes. He’s in just his boxers when he falls on his bed, face first. He’s exhausted, angry. It’s nothing that a good visit to the gym couldn’t fix but right now he doesn’t think he could face the world. He lays there for a long while, he doesn’t know how long but eventually, his phone rings and above Yuri’s still unsaved number he sees that it’s almost midnight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He picks up but doesn’t say anything. He just waits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Yuri says, “Otabek.” And then, “can you come open the front door, please? I want to see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek hadn’t expected him to follow him all the way here, much less dare to call with the way he had been spoken to earlier but Yuri Plisetsky was, apparently, full of surprises. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s open,” Otabek says, rubbing his eyes. He doesn’t know if he’d fallen asleep or not but he feels slow, groggy. He hears the distinctive rattling of the doorknob and then Yuri sighs into the phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not,” he says, “it’s fine if you want me to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“28853,” Otabek says quietly. There’s a pause followed by the beep of each individual number being pressed on the keypad and the click of the front door opening and closing. Yuri doesn’t hang up until he’s standing in the doorway of Otabek’s bedroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not naked, right?” He asks but moves closer anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it matter?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess not.” He feels the mattress dip and the warmth radiating from Yuri though they’re not quite touching. “I didn’t know that would happen,” he says quietly. “I don’t want you to be angry at me about that because I didn’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yuri.” Otabek moves over to make space for Yuri on the bed. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- I know. It’s okay.” He sighs. “Can I touch you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek doesn’t say anything but his breathing falters and his heart, still treacherous as always, skips a beat. It’s the minuscule shifting of the muscles under his skin, the way he moves slightly closer despite having moved away just a moment before. He can practically feel Yuri’s hesitance before there’s a cold hand pressing against his back, making Otabek hiss. “Sorry,” Yuri laughs and begins rubbing soothing circles into the skin there. Otabek lets himself relax into it. There’s something about the way that Yuri touches him like he doesn’t quite know how or when. They barely know each other, Otabek realizes but that’s something they can work on. “I’m sorry that happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d overreacted. Otabek realizes that now but he’d never been good at controlling his emotions, especially when they come on so suddenly like that. He’d felt the pressure, all of those eyes on him and it’s a feeling he hadn’t wanted to relive ever again in his life. He’s always paraded around like he’s everything when in a matter of hours, it had been made clear that he was nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek turns on his side, grabs Yuri’s wrist, and pulls him down until he’s laying down fully and they’re nearly pressed chest to chest. Otabek threads their fingers together and leaves their hands between them, resting in the space that he can’t bring himself to fill quite yet. Yuri watches him quizzically, eyes soft despite everything, and when Otabek moves his free hand to move a tuft of hair behind his ear, his lips part. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to know your story,” Yuri says. He pushes closer tentatively and presses a kiss to Otabek’s shoulder. He leaves his lips there, just barely brushing over the skin. “I want to know how you got here, where you’ve been.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a different person,” Otabek says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuri pulls away, just enough so they can look at each other eye to eye. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you’re around me,” Otabek explains. “You’re a different person. I don’t know if the real you is the one I have here in my bed or the one that was cursing up a storm in front of Phichit just a few weeks ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuri smiles and then laughs. Soon, that laugh becomes a set of soft giggles that he tries to hide in Otabek’s chest. “I’m whatever I want to be,” Yuri says, smile wide and cheeks flushed. “I’m a hundred different people but with you-“ he grabs Otabek’s face, thumbs tracing patterns over his cheekbones. “-I’m just Yuri.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just Yuri,” Otabek mutters, pressing his lips to Yuri’s forehead. It’s not quite a kiss but a search for warmth. Maybe something else entirely. “If you want me to tell you my story you’ve got to tell me yours, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Deal,” Yuri says, sitting up. Their clasped hands rest on his knee and for a while, that’s all he can focus on. The contrast is sharp. “Let me make you feel better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re planning on giving me a blowjob,” Otabek says, “I’ll have to politely decline.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuri slaps his shoulder, hard. He’s frowning and his face is ridiculously red. Otabek finds it hard not to laugh. “Asshole. Let me take you out somewhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s not much to think about there. Otabek has an inkling as to where they’ll end up but he gets dressed and lets Yuri drag him along and to his car where the tiger bobblehead greets him with a nod and a fierce grin. This time, the Bee Gees aren’t playing but the station is the same and Otabek has to wonder if love songs are Yuri’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He remembers the last time he was in this car and how he’d thought that would be the final time he ever saw Yuri Plisetsky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, it just feels like the first of many nights together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek lets his mind go blank as Yuri starts to drive down the nearly empty streets, humming softly under his breath. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Victor is, to say the least, ecstatic to see Otabek again. He greets them by the door when they arrive, smile wide as they hand over their phones to Phichit. They’re in SoHo still but the place is different. This time around instead of an abandoned fire station it’s an abandoned warehouse but that place is just as packed as the last. As they enter the main area there is none of the theatrics that were present the last time they were there but people stop and stare, anyway, just for a small second before turning back to the fight taking place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the back, instead of a table, there’s a couch, raggedy and old but it does the job anyway. Victor promptly takes a seat, followed by Otabek and Yuri who sit closer than they need to. It’s hot in there, the air stifling with all those bodies packed close together but Otabek wraps an arm around Yuri nonetheless. Victor watches them from the corner of his eye but doesn’t say anything. Otabek would rather he didn’t, things were already complicated as they were and it wasn’t something he wanted to think about. Otabek’s philosophy was simple: if he didn’t have to think about it then he didn’t have to deal with it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The fight currently taking place is halfway over when they get there. The two guys are lean and lightly muscled, going at each other with intensity and reverence in each of their movements. It’s obvious that they’ve done this before, are pros at it, even though that’s the point of it all. No one comes to see and bet thousands of dollars on rookies, on people that stumble over their own feet and flinch away from punches that split skin on contact. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t think you’d come back,” Victor says. He looks regal, relaxed, and slouched against the couch, practically glowing under the dim light. It’s obvious he’s been in the scene for a while- everyone there knows his name but for how long Otabek couldn’t guess and he doesn’t think they’re familiar enough for him to ask questions like that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t either,” Otabek says. The fight ends and the two guys step down, both of them equally bloodied and bruised but it’s clear who the victor is. The ring girls take their place and the music becomes notably louder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s the occasion?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek looks down at Yuri, for a moment, watching him watch the girls on the ring. There’s a frown on his face and it’s obvious that he’s thinking of something besides what’s going on in front of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tough night,” Otabek says and Victor seems to understand the double meaning of those words because he turns and grins at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The world of professional boxing can be a tricky thing,” he says. “Relax. Have a drink.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of the second set of fighters, Otabek knows only one. It’s Yuuri again and he looks more in his prime than the last time Otabek had seen him. There’s still a faded bruise on his face, a scab over his lip that looks fairly new but he looks as ready as anybody Otabek has seen up there. Money passes hands- if Otabek had any cash on him he’d bet on Yuuri, too, but as it is he settles for watching instead. Victor handles the money like a pro, counting it almost expertly before passing it on. Most of the people that had been there long enough know to bet on Yuuri. Those that don’t, Otabek thinks, are complete idiots. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s going to win,” Yuri whispers into his ear. “He always wins.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have a lot of faith,” Otabek says but he knows that he’s not wrong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not faith,” Yuri answers. “Just simple knowledge.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He needs to learn to stop being so cocky,” says Victor, “but then again I don’t think he’s never been wrong a day in his life.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek sees how Yuri grins in smug satisfaction. He presses closer against Otabek’s side and watches the fight as it starts. Most of the time Otabek just watches Yuri. It’s not like he doesn’t enjoy it- he’s not going to deny himself the pleasure of watching a good fight, not now or ever but he finds something dazzling in the spark of Yuri’s eyes, the way he watches so intently, takes in every move and step as if he were the one up on that ring fighting instead. Otabek could never imagine him there, taking punches. Victor knew what he was talking about when he said that he might get ripped apart up there. But he knew that Yuri was fierce in his own way. He doesn’t think there could be anything that would stop Yuri from fighting for something with all he’s got. It’s a marvelous thing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the end, Yuuri does win much to everyone’s absolute lack of surprise but they all cheer loudly anyway, including Otabek who wasn’t even paying attention to half of it. There’s a smug look on Victor’s face as an envelope full of money is dropped on his lap and he starts counting over it almost immediately. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Enough for rent?” Yuri asks teasingly and Victor nods surely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Always. God, I love rich people,” Victor says and his smile that time, wide and bright, is directed right at Otabek. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Victor, leave the poor kid alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They all look up to find Yuuri walking towards them, blood on his face smeared and mixing with his sweat. His hair is tousled and his cheeks flushed. He’s still breathing heavily as he pushes past the few people that stand between him and them- or rather, him and Victor. Otabek watches as he sits himself on Victor’s lap and Victor, with the utmost care and patience in the world, carefully unwraps his hands one by one. Later, when he’s done and the wrappings are set aside, he takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes Yuuri’s face down before placing a kiss on his lips, soft and chaste. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Otabek,” Yuuri says when Victor finally stops placing kisses all over his face, “It’s nice to see you again but I have to say, I am a bit surprised to see you here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can blame this one,” Otabek says and he looks down at Yuri who seems entirely uninterested in the conversation. “He’s always too eager to drag me out here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yuri-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it’s okay,” Otabek says, noticing the way Yuuri’s eyebrows knit together and the corners of his mouth curl down in distaste. He steps in before Yuri can get chastised for something that’s not even his fault. “I… kind of needed this tonight.” Yuuri gives him a worried look but Otabek waves his concern away. “It’s nothing, really, just-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yurio,” Victor says suddenly, cutting Otabek off mid-sentence. He sounds serious as he tells Yuri, “Why don’t you go get us something to drink?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Yuri says, looking up at Victor with a frown on his face. “Why me? Just call someone over and-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Victor gives Yuri a </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> that promptly shuts him up. He sighs and then untangles himself from Otabek’s side, muttering a quick, ‘I’ll be back’ before heading out and getting lost in the crowd. Otabek watches him go before he loses sight of him and promptly asks Victor, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you do that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve known him long enough,” Victor answers. “Will you tell us what happened? It has to do with him, doesn’t it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek took a deep breath. “Not really,” he explained, not even sure himself. “It’s the fight. His grandfather wants me to lose it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh.” Yuuri’s mouth curls into an O shape as Otabek speaks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As I said, professional boxing is tough. There’s a lot of ins and outs, a lot of setups. Most of that stuff isn’t even fair.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you going to do about it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek shrugged, looking down at his lap. “What can I do? If I don’t do it I lose a major sponsor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Listen,” Victor says, his hand coming to land on Otabek’s shoulder. “I don’t want to sound creepy with this or anything but I’ve been keeping tabs on you for a while. You’re a powerful and promising fighter and I saw how that last fight with Leroy affected you. It’s none of my business and as a complete and total stranger I probably have no right to do this but… Otabek, don’t do it. When the time comes you go up on that ring and you fight and you beat Leroy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But… Nikolai?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s not the only rich guy out there,” Yuuri says, voice soft and reassuring. “Trust me. He used to sponsor Victor until he fucked up. You’ll find someone else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek takes a deep breath, letting the words sink in. He’d never lost a sponsor, not in the years he’d been boxing professionally. The prospect terrified him and it wasn’t that or the thought of losing to Leroy again, that made him feel like absolute shit. And then there was Yuri, too. If his grandfather weren’t sponsoring him would he still want to see him? Would he still </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> him? More than once Otabek has to wonder if he’s just a novelty, something for Yuri to pass the time and tell about later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tells himself that if he lost Yuri he wouldn’t care. They hadn’t spent that much time together, hadn’t done much. He wasn’t attached, definitely not. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does Yuri know?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course,” Otabek says, his eyes traveling over the crowd and then over to the ring. He’d been so out of it he hadn’t noticed another fight had started. “He was there when it happened.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did you say?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I ran out.” His laugh is bitter. “What could I do? Like Nikolai said, it’s just entertainment. Nothing more.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t lose this fight,” Victor says again. “You didn’t join boxing because it was just entertainment, did you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Otabek says, shaking his head. “No, it was always so much more than that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then don’t treat it like that. Don’t lose your spark, Otabek. You’re so much better than that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek doesn’t want to think about it, of course not. His father had been the one to get him into it, sure but the spark had always been there. To him, there was always something so raw about boxing. The adrenaline, the hits, the wins. It was intoxicating, almost addicting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few more minutes pass before Yuri appears again. He breaks through the crowd and Otabek watches, breath caught in his throat because of how radiant he looks, blond hair glowing, eyes bright. There’s sweat dotting his hairline and his cheeks are dusted with a soft pink. He looks stunning, really and Otabek gets the sudden urge to kiss him. He’s not attached, no, but Yuri is breathtaking. He won’t deny that. Behind him follows a guy with a tray on his hand piled high with drinks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Got you your drinks,” Yuri says. “You owe me fifty bucks.” His eyes move from Victor over to Otabek who has now looked away from him and seems to have lost himself in his thoughts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek nearly startles when he feels slender fingers under his chin, tilting his head up. His eyes meet Yuri’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You okay?” Yuri asks, voice so soft it makes Otabek shiver. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” Otabek says, taking Yuri’s wrist and dragging him down to the couch, back to how they’d been before. Otabek hadn’t realized how tense he was until Yuri pressed up against him on that ratty old couch and he gradually began to relax against him. He takes his drink and finishes it off in three gulps. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri’s hand comes to land on his knee sometime during the night. The touch is electric and Otabek can’t tell if it’s the crowd's atmosphere or the alcohol or just </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yuri </span>
  </em>
  <span>that has him feeling like he can do anything. His mind is hazy, his mouth full of smoke instead of the many words he wants to say. Yuuri’s still sitting on Victor’s lap, the two of them kissing slowly. Otabek barely pays them any mind but he can see them so clearly from the corner of his eye. He’d give anything to pull Yuri on his lap like that and kiss him senseless, to feel him against him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shakes the thoughts away as quickly as they come but still some parts linger in his mind. He can’t stop thinking about it, even over the yelling of the crowd, the heavy energy. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> Yuri much like he wanted him that day at the pool and later at his apartment. He always puts off the thought until it comes crashing back into him in the form of hot, heady arousal that curls in his gut tightly. Yuri touching him gives him that same feeling he always gets when he wins a fight and the crowd is going wild for him, just for him. But instead of the crowd, it’s Yuri and nothing else but his hand on Otabek’s knee. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure you’re okay?” Yuri’s voice so close to his ear makes shivers run up and down Otabek’s spine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, Otabek is not okay. All he can think about is </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yuri, Yuri, Yuri.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you still thinking about it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you really think I’ll be okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri turns his head and their noses brush. Otabek blinks down at him, not sure how to react when Yuri leans over and places a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. He’s definitely surprised. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry about it,” Yuri says softly. “You’ll be okay, Otabek, I promise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they leave, later into the night after the last fight, Otabek finds some sort of relief in the cool night air that hits his face. Yuri shivers and wraps his arms around himself. Maybe he uses the sudden chill as an excuse to press close to Otabek but Otabek lets him, wraps his arm around him, even and relishes in his warmth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Victor and Yuuri stumble out behind them with the rest of the crowd, giggly and extremely happy as they whisper nonsense into each other’s ears. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s late,” Yuri states, fumbling for his keys. Otabek takes them from him, dangling them high above his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure you’re good to drive?” Otabek asks. Yuri’s face is serious for about half a second before he breaks off into a fit of giggles. He presses his hands against Otabek’s chest and kisses him deeply when his laughter dies down. Otabek’s eyes open wide in surprise before they flutter shut and he opens his mouth under Yuri. He stumbles, arms wrapping around Yuri’s waist as they press against the car. Otabek melts against Yuri, hands traveling over his hips and up the flat plane of his stomach, almost dropping the keys if it weren’t for Yuri grabbing them from his hands just in time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can drive just fine,” Yuri says breathlessly, lips brushing against Otabek’s as he speaks. He pats his chest before pushing him away and moving to the driver’s side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yuri-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek thinks Yuri’s laughter is like fucking sunshine. He looks over across the hood of the car and sees Yuri’s smile is wide, so radiant, his hair like a halo on top of his head. His heart skips a beat, and then another. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s late. Let’s get you home big guy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek realizes in the time that it takes him to get inside, close the door, and put on his seatbelt that he’s probably gonna end up inviting Yuri up to his apartment that night. There’s no escaping it, no denying that he wants Yuri in his bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the car starts Otabek somehow, for some reason, thinks about Yuri naked under him. It’s not like he can help it, not when the real thing is sitting right beside him, humming under his breath and eyes set firmly on the road. It isn’t supposed to be like this, but it’s his hand that ends up on Yuri’s leg this time- on the inside of his thigh, more specifically, fingers teasing at the seams of his pants. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri doesn’t say a word in the time it takes them to get from SoHo to Otabek’s apartment. It gives Otabek time to think about things he shouldn’t have been thinking about given the situation but Yuri looks lovely, always does, and that kiss has done something to him, made his insides feel strange and his thoughts all jumbled up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He squeezes Yuri’s thigh and looks at him as they park in front of the building. He should say something, maybe tease a little to ease the tension but… he can’t. There are no words for this, this feeling that’s settled itself heavily in his chest. He could fight it all he wanted, could deny it for all of his life, but it wasn’t going to make it go away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Beka.” Otabek startles at the way the nickname leaves Yuri’s mouth. “Are you just going to stare at me all night?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri cups Otabek’s cheek and all the words leave his mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s alright,” he says. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek shakes his head and grabs Yuri’s wrists as if the simple gesture will stop him from leaving. “Come upstairs?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri is, to say the least, surprised. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” he says. “How much have you had to drink?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The same as you and if you’re sober enough to drive us here then I’m sober enough to know that I want you in my bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri’s cheeks color red. Maybe Otabek’s choice of words was less than ideal but his strategy seems to work because Yuri is nodding and stumbling out of the car faster than Otabek can say another word. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They somehow make it inside and to the elevator before Otabek grabs Yuri and presses in close against him, lips pressing kisses to his neck and hands at his hips. Yuri gasps, arches his back. It’s beautiful, so beautiful and Otabek just can’t get enough of it. Yuri gasps, hands pushing at Otabek to try and get some space to breathe but he ends up grabbing on to him instead, pulling him closer. It’d been a while, too long. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek still somehow manages to find the keys in his pockets and open the door after they’ve spent a good five minutes stumbling along, unable to let go of each other for even the most vital of tasks. They can’t fuck in the hallway, no matter how hard and desperate they both are but once inside the apartment it’s an entirely different story. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It starts with Yuri’s shirt. That’s the first thing to come off; it lands somewhere in the living room, somewhere on one of the couches or on the floor. Neither of them notices. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek nearly groans at the feeling of Yuri’s bare skin under his fingertips. He feels the jut of his hips and the bumps of his ribs. There’s desperation there, hidden between the gentleness of bone. Otabek wants to feel all of him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri gasps into Otabek’s mouth as they kiss, back arching so perfectly as he stands on the tips of his toes to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your turn,” he says eagerly and Otabek has to laugh at the way his voice cracks halfway through. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They make it to the stairs when both their shirts are off and Otabek can’t tell if it’s him or Yuri that popped the button on his jeans. By that time it’s painful the way he wants to take Yuri right there where they may fall but at the same time take his time with him. He wants this to last hours, all night until the morning but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri moans and his hard cock rubs against Otabek’s thigh through the fabric of his jeans. He’s so whiny and it still makes Otabek feel wonderfully warm at the sight. He’s the one that has Yuri wrecked like this, the only one at the moment that gets to see him so beautiful. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I need it,” Yuri says, desperate. “I need you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek presses him down into the mattress like a dream, Yuri’s body giving way for him, his legs parting to allow him to settle between them and rock their hips together. Yuri whines, hands clawing down Otabek’s back until Otabek grabs his wrists and pins them roughly above his head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stay still,” he says, lips against Yuri’s racing pulse. Yuri whines but seems to get the idea because somehow he manages to keep his hands above his head but his hips- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek moves down, over Yuri’s collarbones and his chest, fingers and lips pressing bruises to his skin. He mouths at the skin around the hem of his pants, leaving a wet trail until he just can’t wait anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let me make you feel good,” Otabek says, popping the button on Yuri’s jeans and nearly missing the way he says </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> so softly it’s devastating</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek isn’t entirely unfamiliar with the art of giving a blowjob. He isn’t one to brag much but if he could he’d give an oral presentation on it worthy of a standing ovation. As it is he only has Yuri as an audience and the need to exceed expectations is above all others. He wants to make Yuri feel good, wants to show him how it’s properly done. He wants to be selfless with the way he pleasures Yuri. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek pulls down Yuri’s pants far enough to pull his cock out and finds that it’s incredibly hard and incredibly hot in his hand. Yuri groans, not sure what to do with himself as Otabek fists his cock, motion slick with precome, the slide easy and smooth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Beka- </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh god.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The arch of Yuri’s back seems almost agonizingly amazing, a perfect curve full of surprise. Otabek watches, gauging his reaction as he does nothing more than grip the base and lick at the head tantalizingly slow. Yuri plants his feet on the mattress and tries to lift his hips, to thrust into Otabek’s mouth and seek more of that burning hot feeling but it’s like he can’t move at all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It all makes Otabek think that maybe he is a little drunk. Yuri’s so beautiful like this, laid out on his bed like he belongs there, like he always has. Lost in his own pleasure, Yuri’s hands end up in Otabek’s hair after only a few moments, seemingly having forgotten to keep them above his head like he’d been ordered to. Otabek doesn’t mind all that much. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he finally takes the head into his mouth Yuri is in tears, wet streaks running down his cheeks and onto the sheets. He’s so sensitive it makes Otabek wonder if he’s ever had a proper blowjob before, if anyone has ever treated him as well as he does. Still, he takes Yuri’s reactions as they come, urging him on, even. It fills him with a strange sense of pride knowing that this is for him, that Yuri is just his even if it’s only for that night. What will come tomorrow will come but now it’s just Yuri and him and the dark, dark night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek keeps a tight grip on the base of Yuri’s cock. He doesn’t want him to come, not yet, and not like this. He entertains himself with the notion of there being another time to fool around and explore their likes and dislikes but so far their relationship- if it could even be called that- was based almost entirely on surprises. Otabek wouldn’t put it past circumstance if there </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>another time, another moment like this one sometime in their future. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It doesn’t take much until Yuri is shamelessly begging him to come. The way his voice sounds so raw and shaky is almost enough to convince Otabek to give in and let him but he has more restraint than that. They’d barely been at it for long but Otabek knows that if it were him on the other side of that blowjob he wouldn’t have lasted half the time that Yuri did. It’s amazing. There’s a combination of spit and precome dribbling down Otabek’s chin, the taste of Yuri heavy on his tongue as he sucks obscenely and swallows everything that is given to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He goes on for a little while longer until he pulls back, letting Yuri’s cock fall from his mouth with an almost obscene pop to go along with it. It bounces back and hits Yuri’s navel, leaving a trail of wetness there. Yuri’s eyes are heavy and dark on him, his chest rising and falling along with his frantic breathing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And that,” Otabek says, pressing a kiss to the shaft, “is how you give a proper blowjob.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri groans and throws his arms over his eyes. His face is red and it seems like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Is he embarrassed? Otabek doesn’t think there’s any reason to be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Otabek says, wiping his chin before he moves up the length of Yuri’s body. “Don’t get all shy on me now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“’M not,” Yuri mumbles, wrapping himself around Otabek. He kisses all along his jaw and his cheeks and anywhere that he can reach. “’M mad that you didn’t let me come.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you really?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Yuri shakes his head. “Take your clothes off, please? I’ve thought about this for too long to </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>get you naked.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek pulls back and blinks down at him for a moment, the mental image of Yuri thinking of him, thinking of </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span>, burned into the backs of his eyelids forever. He reaches down and teases the hem of his own pants. “What were you thinking about?” he asks, pushing the fabric down just enough to tease. He has to, </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs</span>
  </em>
  <span> to know.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri leans back on his elbows and watches like it’s a goddamn show, bottom lip caught between his teeth.  “Your hands,” he says, Otabek’s smooth rhythm faltering. “Your mouth. Your-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek’s cock springs free from the confines of his jeans and Yuri visibly gulps at the sight. It’s what he’d wanted, what he’d been thinking about for so long. Otabek fumbles, hands shaking as he takes his pants off and throws them somewhere in the room. He doesn’t care about the mess or having to clean up tomorrow. He cares about Yuri and how good he’s being </span>
  <em>
    <span>just for him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Turn over.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri does so almost before the words leave Otabek’s mouth like he’d been expecting them. He stretches out, rocks his hips back. Who is Otabek to deny an invitation like that? It’s almost rough the way he straddles Yuri’s legs and shoves the pants out of the way, the swell of Yuri’s ass exposed to him. He grabs his cheeks, spreads them, and lets go just to see them jiggle. He lets his cock rub against his crack, wanting so desperately to see the skin red and covered in come. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His </span>
  </em>
  <span>come.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek leans down and kisses his ear. “Are you okay?” He asks, thinking that maybe they should have established some sort of safe word or boundaries before all of this started but it had definitely never crossed his mind. It’s not like he’s five seconds away from just taking what he wants without asking or anything like that. No, he’s better than that, has more self-control, but the fear of making Yuri uncomfortable still lingers. It’s not like that first time when they’d been strangers in the same hotel room. This feels different, much more intimate. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” Yuri says, twisting to meet Otabek’s gaze and he smiles sweetly. “Please?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek reaches into the nightstand for the lube and a condom. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should let me eat you out sometime,” Otabek says, light fingertips trailing down Yuri’s spine. Yuri jerks, startled at Otabek’s words and how seriously he says them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should let me-“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I heard,” Yuri says, fingers twisting in the sheets as Otabek teases at his hole with a slick finger, tracing circles around his rim. “But-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t wanna?” The first finger slides in smooth and easy but Yuri still gasps and squirms. Otabek makes no attempt to keep him still as he works in and out of him in a smooth pattern. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not t-that,” Yuri chokes out as the second finger slides in. this time there’s a slight burn, barely there but there nonetheless and he squirms, not sure what to do with himself. “It’s just-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just?” Otabek prompts when Yuri stops mid-sentence and doesn’t start back up after his long, drawn-out moan ends. Otabek can’t help grinning though. “Are you thinking about it? Are you thinking about my tongue </span>
  <em>
    <span>here?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>- Otabek. N-no one’s ever done that to me. I’m not sure.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Otabek says, three fingers inside of Yuri and the promise for more sitting heavy in his stomach. He presses a kiss to Yuri’s shoulder blade and just that alone seems to ease his worries.  “Ready?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri nods eagerly, face buried in the sheets. He whimpers at the emptiness when Otabek pulls out and clenches hard around nothing. Otabek’s never fumbled so much while putting on a condom. It seems like forever until he rolls it on right and another forever as he presses into Yuri’s hole inch by agonizing inch. He grips his hips tightly, hoping that Yuri doesn’t notice the way his hands shake with need. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So good,” Yuri mutters, rocking back, so needy. “Beka, please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Be good,” Otabek says, groaning low under his breath once he’s fully seated inside of him. It’s hot, tight, and perfect. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Always.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri lets him know when it’s okay to move by clenching down on him and squeezing the hand that’s on his hip. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it everything you thought about?” Otabek pants, setting a steady pace for them that he knows won’t last that long. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek preens, his limbs growing warm at Yuri’s words. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Better. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He’s doing better than what Yuri had hoped for. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek finds in the short span of five seconds that fucking Yuri is almost exactly like fighting. It’s graceful and rough and </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It takes precision and careful consideration from both of their parts. Otabek has pinned many men down but none are like Yuri, who just opens up for him and takes it like he’s made for it. He’s never seen anyone want it so badly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek fucks into Yuri three more times before he pulls out. Yuri barely has time to register it and whimper at the loss, Otabek quickly flipping him over and kissing him hungrily as he slips back inside oh so easily. Yuri tastes sweet, mouth slick and lips swollen. A hand ends up fisting his hair and Yuri just asks for more, asks him to pull the strands and make him cry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek can’t help but feel like he’s being taken apart by the feelings racing through him. He wants Yuri, wants him so desperately it leaves him breathless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri moans, whimpers, begs for it. When Otabek gives in and fists his cock to the steady rhythm of his hips it’s not long before Yuri is clenching down, barely giving any warning as he comes violently and sprays both his and Otabek’s chests with come. Otabek kisses his neck, coos gentle affirmations into his skin. With Yuri clenching down around him so tightly it’s not long before that warmth in Otabek’s stomach explodes and he’s coming with a deep groan and sparks behind his eyelids. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek falls on top of Yuri, a moment of silence passing after the commotion. He takes a moment to catch his breath, fingers trailing over Yuri’s skin and mixing the come there with his sweat. It’s a long moment before Otabek calms down, another longer one for Yuri to push him off with a sigh, claiming that he’s too sweaty and it’s too hot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We should go shower,” Otabek says but neither of them makes a move to do so. “Yuri-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Yuri says suddenly, rolling over and throwing a leg over Otabek’s waist. Even after everything, he seems unsure, as if scared that Otabek won’t allow him to touch him after everything is said and done. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For this,” Yuri says, waving his hand vaguely up in the air. “I can see it sometimes, how unsure you are with everything- with </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You didn’t want this, right? You didn’t want anything to do with me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you always this mouthy after sex?” Otabek asks, not denying any of it because it’s not exactly a lie. He had been hesitant, hadn’t wanted any of it but Yuri was hard to say no to. He’s insistent. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Yuri says, a soft smile on his face. “I understand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Things are complicated.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yuri rolls his eyes, moving sweaty strands of hair away from his face. “You still let me be here. You still invited me up to your bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can tell how lonely you are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your apartment’s so clean, so sterile,” Yuri explains. “It’s like no one lives here and it’s just for decoration, to show off. Who are you trying to impress, huh?” Otabek doesn’t answer because he doesn’t think Yuri is looking for that. He lets him go on, lets him keep speaking because he feels like it’s something he needs to hear. Maybe he is a little bit lonely. “You have your fights, sure, and your victories and your trophies and your sponsors but at the end of the day who do you have to come back to?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yuri-“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not trying to be that person,” he says, “I’m not trying to be anything you don’t want me to be but… I just thought you should know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The kiss Otabek places on Yuri’s forehead is gentle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We can try</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he wants to say but he doesn’t, </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This took so long,” Yuri sighs. “It takes two to do this, Beka. I’m not the only one that wanted this.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He pulls back from Yuri, unable to find the right words for anything at the moment. There’s a trail of clothing leading across his room all the way to the hall, down the stairs, and to the front door. If he follows it Otabek feels like he’ll be able to relive their night together but instead, he heads to the bathroom where it’s cool and quiet. He feels like he’s suffocating. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s just done the one thing he’d told himself at the beginning he wouldn’t do and the one thing he can think about is, ‘now what?’ From where he’s standing every outcome could be a bad one for him. Yuri, on the other hand, comes out of it all unscathed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Otabek turns on the showerhead and dumps the condom in the trash. He feels sated, refreshed, and maybe a little bit sleepy. He should focus on that instead of the other half of him that’s swamped in such negative feelings. He shouldn’t but-</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Warm arms come up behind him and wrap around his waist. Yuri is warm, burning and his breath tickles the back of Otabek’s neck. For what feels like the millionth time he says, “It’s going to be okay,” and Otabek desperately wants to believe him. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>the epilogue comes next and then we're done! thank you to everyone who has read this.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Otabek wakes up early in the morning after a long night of restlessness and heads to the gym. He’s not tired, not groggy, or sleep-deprived. If anything he’s anxious. The day has finally arrived, and in just a few hours he’ll be getting in a car with Yakov and he’ll be heading out to sign a contract that will seal his fate. He’s not all that eager to see Leroy again but it’s something he’s been working up to for some time now. He’d thought a lot about Nikolai’s words but mostly about Victor’s and Yuuri’s. He found comfort in the fact that they were there, that he had his back and supported him no matter what his decision would be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t explicitly written in the contract. He’d talked it over with Yakov when he’d gathered enough courage to even mention it out loud to his couch and </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span> it wasn’t in the contract but it was something that was expected of him nonetheless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yakov had put his hand on Otabek’s shoulder and said, “What do you want me to tell him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek shrugged. He didn’t want to give a yes or no answer, didn’t want to make anything concrete. “Tell him he’ll have to wait for the day of the fight to get his answer.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yakov nodded and though he looked troubled, didn’t say anything else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This day, though, Otabek feels like a simple breeze could knock him over. No one else is at the gym so it’s only him, the punching bags, and the speakers overhead with the music he’s barely paying attention to flowing out of them. He can hear each thud, feel the ache in his arms and legs as he punches almost mercilessly like his life depends on it. If he stops his hands start shaking and he feels like he’ll fall over at any minute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he’d gotten there he’d left Yuri at his apartment, still fast asleep, naked on his bed with the sheets pooled around his waist and his arms tucked under the pillow. His hair had been a mess, falling all over the place though he looked peaceful enough, lips parted and face serene. Otabek had let the image burn into his eyelids so he could think about it when he didn’t want to think about anything else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Having Yuri over had become enough of a routine that Otabek trusted him to stay there alone and even Mily had taken to staying with them, curled up asleep most of the time on Otabek’s otherwise pristine couch that was now covered in cat hair. Yuri had become like something of a lifeline despite all of Otabek’s wishes. He needed him as much as he needed anything else and maybe, just maybe things really </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>work. Otabek thought that he could trust Yuri’s words, that things would be okay about this whole situation. Yuri thought him on top of the world, thought that he could do anything- mostly open the peanut butter jars- but it made Otabek’s heart flutter in a strange way that spells nothing but trouble. Trouble for him, in particular. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know how long he’s there but he finds that the sun has risen higher up in the sky when his phone starts ringing. He’s probably been there for a while but is still so full of restless energy that he barely feels it. His legs do tremble, though, as he walks over to his bag, and his fingers shake as he takes off his gloves so he can grab his phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning,” comes Yuri’s groggy voice from the other end of the line and across the city. Otabek’s heart warms at the thought that maybe he’d been the first thing on Yuri’s mind when he’d just woken up or somewhere near the front of the line if the first thing he did was call him. Yuri’s voice is deep and keeps cracking as he speaks but Otabek’s heart beats oddly out of place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning. Did you have breakfast?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Yuri groans and Otabek can hear the way the sheets rustle as he moves. He must be stretching. “Why’d you leave?” The </span>
  <em>
    <span>I miss you</span>
  </em>
  <span> goes unsaid but Otabek knows it’s there, can hear it in the way his voice drops and goes a little bit breathy, knows he’s probably clutching the phone close to his ear and that his cheeks are a little bit red. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I had to practice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you didn’t,” Yuri says, not accusatory but very matter of fact. There’s a soft purr in the background and Otabek listens as Yuri coos at Mily before he says, “are you nervous?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it that easy to tell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Yuri points out, “you hide it well but I know you better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Last night they’d gone out for dinner at a quiet, small expensive place that Otabek would have no reason to go to on his own. It was per Victor and Yuuri’s recommendation and Otabek had a hard time imagining them there either. It felt awfully like a date but Yuri had dressed up so nicely for their time out that Otabek had a hard time not enjoying their time together. It was obvious that Yuri’s clothes were expensive though casual, the jeans sitting snug on his thighs and the silk shirt lose but still good looking on his slim frame. His hair had been braided and Otabek didn’t know if it was professional or if he’d done it himself, but it was messy in the best of ways though later when he’d pushed Yuri up against the wall of his apartment and all he wanted to do was run his fingers through his hair and pull it, the braid proved to be a difficult obstruction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d barely talked about </span>
  <em>
    <span>it</span>
  </em>
  <span> during their time out. Yuri, his knees pressed against Otabek’s under the table, had been all smiles and giggles and laughter the whole night. He ate and he told Otabek about this or that and Otabek listened because he liked the way Yuri talked, the way his voice sounded and his lips moved and he liked the fact that with every word that was spoken he was learning a little more about the man sitting in front of him and it was so wonderful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuri had a knack for comfort, it turns out, or maybe it was just Otabek that found comfort in him. Yuri knew probably more than him about this whole thing, and he’d kept a tight hold on Otabek the whole night, had let Otabek brush out his hair, had allowed them to shower together for the first time. It was almost painfully awkward, even if Otabek’s shower was big enough because they’d insisted on keeping each other close no matter what, and they’d slipped on the slick tiles and pressed giggles into each other’s skin more than they actually showered. It was the small things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beka?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek takes a deep breath. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to that nickname, not when it’s Yuri that’s saying it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to go. With you.” He sounds hesitant as he says, Otabek more so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I want to,” Yuri insists, sounding more awake now as their conversation takes place. His voice is firm like he’s already made up his mind. Otabek doesn’t think he can stop him anyway, not when he gets like this. “Do you not want me there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like that,” Otabek says, trying to come up with some sort of excuse because </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he didn’t want Yuri there, didn’t want him within a thousand-foot range of that place. He can’t quite figure out why yet, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going at two, right? I’ll head over with my grandfather and meet you there.” It’s at that point that Otabek knows that the conversation has ended. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has some sort of idea of how it will go. He still remembers that first time when he’d shown up with giddiness in his gut, a fresh-faced rookie who’d just started making a name for himself and he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>excited</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His father had been there, had patted him on the back, and told him what a good job he’d done getting signed on to fight Leroy. Maybe everyone in that room had known he was a stand-in except him. Maybe they had all played him and he had just played along, too excited and new to everything to know otherwise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tells Yuri goodbye and hangs up the phone before stuffing it back in his bag. He slips the gloves back on and gets back to work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yakov is staring. Which, to be fair, isn’t all that strange except for the fact that he looks kind of angry like he knows Otabek’s done something when he hasn’t and it’s making him nervous. His arms are crossed, corners of his lips curled down. Otabek tries to ignore him but he can see him out of the corner of his like a heavy storm cloud or something, just ready to burst at any moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighs and stops his movements, lets his hands drop to his side, and feels the ache and burn of tired muscles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is something wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yakov looks at him for a while longer, intense and kind of scary. Eventually, he seems to snap out of it because he shakes his head as if dispelling the thoughts that were there and says, “We’ll be leaving soon. You should go take a break and get changed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go change,” Yakov says, voice almost harsh. “You’ve been here long enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek trudges back to the locker rooms, feeling like he’s going to jump out of his skin. He realizes then how unprepared he is. Not physically, because he knows he has done everything he needs to do to get stronger, but rather mentally. the thought of seeing Leroy fills him with dread and suffocating anxiety. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ride over is quiet and somehow that silence is worse. He’s done this a hundred thousand times before; they’ll sign the contract, take promotional pictures of them face-to-face. The actual fight will be at the MGM, less than a week after that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Otabek had been gazing out the window, watching the city passing by, trying to keep his mind off the inevitable. He looks up only when Yakov pulls the car over in a deserted part of town, theirs being the only car in the vicinity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is not where they’re supposed to be going.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s that same look on Yakov’s face that Otabek had seen back at the gym- the kind of look that meant he was thinking too much and which put Otabek on edge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yakov sighs, letting his hands fall from the wheel and onto his lap. “How are you feeling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek looks around, feeling like he’s slipped into some bizarre other world. “I feel fine but I know you didn’t pull the car over just for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I suppose not,” says Yakov, always a man of very few words. “I’ve been your coach for a long time, Otabek. A damn long time. And in all those years of knowing you, I’ve seen you grow, and I’ve seen you become the man you are today-- a good, capable man.” He starts to choke up a little, and it’s so out of place that Otabek can’t help the burning behind his eyes. He blinks quickly to make it go away. “And I guess what I wanted to say is that I’m proud of you, and if you throw that fight on purpose, I will be very, very angry with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yakov starts driving again and there isn’t a thing Otabek can think of to say. It feels like every emotion on the spectrum is rushing through him all at once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The signing is to take place at the Marriott, on the corner of 146th and Broadway. Yakov ever lets the valet take his car, so the very patient man has to stop and give them directions to where the parking garage is around the back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leroy is already here,” says Yakov as they exit the car like he can smell a rat in the air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek swallows, his throat dry. The urge to run is strong but he knows that he is stronger. He can do this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yakov gives him a moment to breathe before they head inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s been a few years but Leroy looks exactly the same; same cocky grin; same overbearing confidence. He has a perfect record and was the only man who had ever beat Otabek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek’s eyes flicker around the room until they land on Yuri, standing next to his grandfather and very pointedly avoiding an attempt at conversation by Leroy. Their eyes meet and Otabek stands just a bit straighter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The man of the hour arrives!” says Nikolai, drawing all eyes in the room to Otabek, who suddenly felt very shy. Leroy’s cocky grin grows wider.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek takes a deep, steadying breath. The fight isn’t today. Today, all he has to get through is the contract signing and the pictures, and then he won’t have to see the man for another week until the day comes for Otabek to see if he really is the fighter he thinks he is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thought you chickened out,” says Leroy as they sit side by side on the long conference table. The flash of the cameras is nearly blinding. “Not that anyone would blame you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek grinds his teeth. He knows he is better than this anger that swells inside of him. That being said, however, he very much can’t wait to punch Leroy in the face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks the worst part of the entire process is having to watch Leroy flirt with Yuri whenever he got the chance. So much time telling himself that it doesn’t mean anything yet there he is, fist tightly clenched under the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Question for Mr. Altin?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tears his gaze away from where Yuri is batting Leroy’s hand away from his hair and fixes it on the reporter who had just spoken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone knows Leroy is planning on retiring. Win or lose, what are your plans after this fight?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek attempts a smile. “I think it’s still too early to talk about winning or losing but there’s no place to go but forward. I feel like I still have many things left to accomplish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s an answer that satisfies but not one that holds much truth. The only thing Otabek knows is that he can’t lose- it just isn’t an option.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s a fucking dick,” Yuri tells him later, curled up on the couch back at Otabek’s apartment. “He wanted me to go back to his hotel room with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad you didn’t,” says Otabek, not realizing the weight those words carry. Yuri looks up from his phone, eyes wide. His lips curl into a soft, warm smile that pleases Otabek more than it should.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad I didn’t either,” says Yuri, crawling onto Otabek’s lap- his self-proclaimed favorite seat. He wraps his arms around Otabek’s neck and gives him a gentle kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek thinks about the extra toothbrush upstairs and the drawer filled with Yuri’s ugly tiger prints. He thinks about the way his bed smells like Yuri and not a day goes by that he doesn’t find a stray blond hair somewhere it definitely shouldn’t be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks about the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach watching Leroy flirt with Yuri, the same feeling he’d experienced just a few minutes ago when Yuri confessed that Leroy had asked him back to his hotel room. that feeling has a name and Otabek realizes then that it’s jealousy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There isn’t a clear timeline of the progression of his feelings for Yuri. there was a time before when he genuinely thought he was in control and believed his time with Yuri was only temporary. A one-time thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek feels like he could laugh. How stupid he had been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beka,” Yuri says softly. The nickname had stuck, much to Otabek’s dismayed amusement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s Otabek who kisses him the second time, gentle and slow and filled with a hunger that floods his veins. He wants Yuri so badly that it scares him and it hits him at that moment that if Yuri asked him to throw the entire fight for a kiss as sweet as this one, he would do it in a heartbeat. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek and Yakov fly down to Vegas just two days later while Yuri stays behind in New York. The hours he’s not training are spent alone in his room, watching Leroy’s old fights and pretending that he doesn’t miss Yuri terribly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After about the tenth picture of Mily that day, Otabek decides that it’s high time he saves Yuri’s phone number, with a cat emoji next to his name to match. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He won’t be seeing Leroy again until the day of the fight, and for that he is thankful. He needs his head to be clear, his mind focused on his training. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All he does is train. Two days before the fight, he starts to feel that familiar itch deep inside. He’s tense all over, thinking about standing in that ring during the most important fight of his life. All those eyes on him- or, if he’s being honest, on Leroy. No doubt he will be the focus of the show, the one everyone will be betting on. It hurts Otabek’s ego more than he would like to admit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finds solace in imagining that final knockout, the shocked look on everyone’s faces when Leroy lands unconscious in the ring. Nikolai had been pestering him for an answer but Otabek had only told him what he’d told Yakov. That will come the day of the fight when either Otabek or Leroy was declared the winner through their own merit and skill, not because some old, rich asshole had asked him to throw the fight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yakov’s words the day of the signing stick with him. They had worked together for years, through every turbulent moment in Otabek’s life. When his father had found out he was bisexual and officially declared he no longer had a son, it was Yakov who had been there to comfort him; when Otabek lost his first and only fight, it was Yakov who had taken him out for a greasy slice of pizza to help make him feel better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He will not disappoint Yakov. There was Nikolai’s answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The night before the fight finds him sleepless. Yakov had sent him up to his room early so he could rest. Already he’d tried a warm bath and then he tried lounging in bed in one of those soft robes with some room service. None of it worked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek fiddles with his phone anxiously. The number had been dialed for the last hour and a half while he built up the courage to dial it. New York is three hours ahead of Vega, already midnight where his father is. Otabek presses the call button, knowing that even if his father picks up angry, even if he yells and curses, then it would be better than nothing at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The call rings and then goes to voicemail. Otabek tries one more time but it doesn’t even ring, just goes straight to the machine. He sits there after the beep, a lump forming in his throat. He should probably say something, an apology, even if he has nothing to apologize for. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry I couldn’t be what you wanted, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he almost says, </span>
  <em>
    <span>at least I became </span>
  </em>
  <span>something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he can say something stupid a call from Yuri comes through. He answers before the second ring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” he says and it sounds almost like a sigh of relief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?” Yuri asks immediately. Of course, he would pick up on the shift in Otabek’s voice; of course, he would listen patiently as Otabek tells him everything he wasn’t brave enough to say before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well it’s his loss,” Yuri says once Otabek finishes speaking, “He’ll never know about the great man his son has become.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That lump in his throat again, for different reasons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I miss you so fucking much, Yura.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be there tomorrow, okay? My flight leaves early in the morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing awake then?” Otabek asks, already starting to feel better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuri says, “because I missed you too,” and Otabek’s heart skips a couple of beats. “Grandpa forced me to have dinner with that Leroy jackass and I was just thinking about you the entire time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What were you thinking about?” Otabek asks, his voice dropping. His robe shifts, exposing an ugly bruise on his thigh and he presses his thumb hard against it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mostly about how much I wished that was you there instead of him,” says Yuri, “he talks to me like I’m nothing more than a conquest and I’m pretty sure he has a weird obsession with my hair.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek laughs. “I don’t blame him,” he says, imagining Yuri’s silky hair against his fingers, the smell of him fresh after a shower. The way his face looks when he’s asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I made it very clear I’d bite his fucking hand off if he touched me. I think that scared him off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek says, “you can be very scary when you want to be. Do you want to fight him tomorrow instead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuri’s laugh is genuine and sweet. “I’ll take you up on that. It would be my pleasure to knock him out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could do it, too,” says Otabek, “you have all that hidden strength.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both laugh at the mental image of Yuri in that ring, gloves on his hands, and face to face with Leroy. But Otabek knows how strong Yuri really is, has felt all that lithe muscle under his skin countless times. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a beat of silence afterward where all Otabek can hear is Yuri’s even breathing and he can just imagine him thousands of miles away, his mind turning over what to say next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was… also thinking about your hands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What were you thinking about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An embarrassed little noise escapes Yuri. “Beka…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? You’re the one who brought it up. Besides, I want to know now. Tell me.” He’s playing a little dirty because he knows Yuri likes it when he gets a little bossy and can hear the way Yuri’s breath hitches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was thinking about the way you grab me when you kiss me,” Yuri whispers, “and how you pull my hair just hard enough to make it hurt good.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek chokes a little, not having expected the direction this conversation was taking. But he liked it and his cock gives an interested twitch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“where are you right now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your apartment,” Yuri says and Otabek can envision it so clearly. “On the bed. Smells like you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you been thinking about my hands a lot?” Otabek asks, taking his half-hard cock in his hand and stroking it to full hardness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think about all of you, all of the time,” Yuri confesses and here his voice catches in his throat a little. “Hope that doesn’t make me sound too pathetic.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek shakes his head before he realizes that Yuri can’t see him. “I think about you all the fucking time, too. I think about how beautiful you are and how you look in the mornings and how you take my cock so well-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Beka,” Yuri chokes out. The call drops suddenly and Otabek looks at the blank screen, his cock still in his hand when a facetime call comes through. He picks up and is nearly blown away when Yuri’s flushed face fills the screen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Had to see you,” he says, shifting the camera away so Otabek can see all of him. He’s wearing one of Otabek’s oversized t-shirts and nothing else, his cock peeking out from under the hem of the shirt and impossible to ignore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for the view,” Otabek teases, shrugging off his robe. “I want you to touch yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuri nods and sighs with relief when he wraps his hand around himself. His eyes close, his head rolls back, and Otabek watches in amazement, wondering how a sight such as this one could be just for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve slept together enough times for Otabek to know when Yuri is close; his breathing gets ragged, his movements more frantic as he seeks his release. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop,” Otabek says, enjoying the look of annoyed frustration on Yuri’s face more than he should. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was so close,” Yoongi whines. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, but it’s better if you wait. Take the shirt off.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuri’s hands shake as he does what Otabek asks of him, first taking the shirt off, then positioning the phone against the lamp on the nightstand so Otabek can see all of him splayed out on the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Spread your legs, Yura.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek holds his breath. Even this feels like too much. To see but not be able to touch seems a herculean task. Yuri glows from his arousal and the neon city likes that spill through the large windows. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like what you see?” Yuri tries to teas but it comes across as a little desperate. precome drips where his cock rests against his stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. I guess you do, too?” Otabek allows himself one slow, leisurely stroke of his cock before he grips the base tightly- he’d been closer than he’d thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grab the lube from the nightstand.” ‘If possible, Yuri’s face grows redder and he looks away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yuri mumbles something that Otabek can’t quite catch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to have to talk a little louder than that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said that we ran out,” Yuri says. He draws his knees together, embarrassed. “I really, </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> missed you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been gone four days,” says Otabek, not able to stop the laugh that bubbles up from his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nearly five,” Yuri whines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Missed me so much you just couldn’t help fingering yourself,” Otabek muses aloud, imagining Yuri on that very bed, three fingers deep inside himself, “and you didn’t even tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Yuri says, though he doesn’t sound too apologetic. He wraps his hand around his cock and Otabek doesn’t stop him this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek mirrors the motion, following the rhythm that Yuri sets, slow at first but growing ever more frantic and desperate. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Please?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of Yuri begging is the sweetest in the world. Otabek, so close he could cry, can’t deny him any longer and gently coaxes Yuri to his orgasm with sweet words, following not long after. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They take a moment to catch their breath, then Yuri says, “best phone sex. Ever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek bursts into laughter, laughing until his eyes sting with tears and his sides hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re insufferable, Yura.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, well, you like it,” Yuri retorts, using Otabek’s shirt to wipe the come from his stomach. He splays out on the bed, a vision in his nakedness. His eyes were already growing heavy and Otabek is dismayed to find that it’s almost time to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Otabek asks, hopeful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Yuri confirms, a soft, satisfied smile spreading across his face. “I can’t wait to see you win, my champion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek feels totally serene as he steps out into the ring, millions of eyes across the nation on him. They take their corners, Yakov whispering last-minute advice that Otabek is confident he doesn’t need. He’s focused, calm, and has never been more sure of himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes scan the crowd, looking for that familiar blond hair. When he finds it, he’s surprised to find the seats next to him occupied by Victor and Yuuri. When had they flown in? That sneaky bastard hadn’t told him a thing during their call and he finds himself pleasantly surprised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you listening to anything I’m saying?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not. His head is stuck on that conversation he’d had with Nikolai earlier, a conversation about choices and making the right one. It was mostly one-sided- Otabek had already made up his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ref calls them up and they bump gloves. Otabek meets Leroy’s eyes straight on, replaying all those hours and hours of old fights, studying strategies and weaknesses. Leroy was mostly an offensive fighter, so Otabek will probably let him land a few good punches in the early rounds to build his confidence before going all out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This fight will end in a knockout, one way or another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first few rounds go as one might expect, except for the few surprise punches that Leroy gets in every once in a while. He doesn’t aim for the face, not right away, instead landing vicious blows to the ribs and stomach that knock the breath out of Otabek. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That isn’t to say, however, that Otabek doesn’t get a few good punches in, too. Sometime during the third round, he had gotten in a satisfying blow that had split Leroy’s lip into a bloody mess. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> had been good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek realizes that he is not the same man he was during that first fight. He was smarter now; he was better and tougher and more confident. Leroy didn’t know any of this, and it was obvious that he was severely underestimating his opponent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A dangerous mistake. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yakov had once told him that boxing is like a dance. A dance that can be beautiful and dangerously exhilarating but a dance nonetheless. And in a dance someone always leads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t make him nervous that Yuri is in the crowd, watching. If anything, it emboldens him and fills him with the strength he needs to crowd Leroy against the ropes. Through a flurry of punches, Otabek can see the panic in his eyes and knows that Nikolai had already told him he would win. The realization that this might not be the clearcut victory he had been promised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, all it takes is a swift punch under the chin. That entire arena fades away as Leroy falls in slow motion to land on his back and then it all comes rushing back all at once, all that noise and shouting. it takes until the ref raises his arm in victory for him to realize that they’re chanting his name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It won’t really set in for a while. Now, he’s still riding that wave of adrenaline, pride swelling in his chest as Yakov and the rest of his team envelop him in a celebratory group hug. Otabek has never been filled with so many conflicting emotions but one rises strongly above all others. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows what he has to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek exits the ring and in the commotion of his victory finds Nikolai. If this were a cartoon, there would be smoke coming out of his ears but as it is he’s quietly fuming, trying not to let the cameras see his reaction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek meets his eyes and when he’s close enough he says, “I’m retiring.” He doesn’t stick around to hear Nikolai’s answer- he doesn’t need to.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All those weeks and weeks of training, the feeling of his entire life had been leading up to this point had quickly faded the moment Leroy hit the ground. Life will go one beyond this moment. The earth will keep spinning, the sun will rise and Otabek realizes that he no longer wants to do any of it alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finds Yuri easily, his smile growing impossibly wide when their eyes meet. This is the feeling he had been fighting for, the warmth that surges through him something he never wants to lose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Otabek grabs Yuri by the hips and kisses him deeply, right there in front of all those cameras and the thousands of people that fill the arena. In front of his grandfather.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was that about?” Yuri asks when the kiss ends, neither pulling back. With only an inch of space between them, Otabek can feel Yuri’s lips move against his when he speaks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They asked me to choose,” Otabek says, “and I choose you.” </span>
</p>
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